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Title: History of the United States of America, Volume 7 (of 9)
During the second administration of James Madison

Author: Henry Adams

Release date: January 31, 2024 [eBook #72846]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1889

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THE

SECOND ADMINISTRATION
OF

JAMES MADISON
1813–1817

HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES.
BY

HENRY ADAMS.
Vols. I. and II.—The First Administration of
Jefferson. 1801–1805.
Vols. III. and IV.—The Second Administration of
Jefferson. 1805–1809.
Vols. V. and VI.—The First Administration of
Madison. 1809–1813.
Vols. VII., VIII., and IX.—The Second
Administration of Madison. 1813–1817. With an
Index to the Entire Work.

HISTORY
OF THE

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
DURING THE SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF

JAMES MADISON
By H E N R Y A D A M S
Vol. I.
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1891

Copyright, 1890
By Charles Scribner’s Sons.
University Press:
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge.

CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. England Angry 1
II. Russian Mediation 26
III. The Extra Session of 1813 48
IV. The River Raisin 72
V. Proctor and Perry 99
VI. The Battle of the Thames 128
VII. Dearborn’s Campaign 144
VIII. Wilkinson’s Campaign 172
IX. Mobile and Fort Mims 206
X. Campaigns among the Creeks 232
XI. The Blockade 262
XII. “Chesapeake” and “Argus” 285
XIII. Privateering 309
XIV. Russia and England 339
XV. The Last Embargo 364
XVI. Monroe and Armstrong 391

HISTORY OF THE UNITED
STATES.

CHAPTER I.
The American declaration of war against England, July 18, 1812,
annoyed those European nations that were gathering their utmost resources
for resistance to Napoleon’s attack. Russia could not but regard it as an
unfriendly act, equally bad for political and commercial interests. Spain and
Portugal, whose armies were fed largely if not chiefly on American grain
imported by British money under British protection, dreaded to see their
supplies cut off. Germany, waiting only for strength to recover her freedom,
had to reckon against one more element in Napoleon’s vast military
resources. England needed to make greater efforts in order to maintain the
advantages she had gained in Russia and Spain. Even in America, no one
doubted the earnestness of England’s wish for peace; and if Madison and
Monroe insisted on her acquiescence in their terms, they insisted because
they believed that their military position entitled them to expect it. The
reconquest of Russia and Spain by Napoleon, an event almost certain to
happen, could hardly fail to force from England the concessions, not in
themselves unreasonable, which the United States required.
This was, as Madison to the end of his life maintained, “a fair
1
calculation;” but it was exasperating to England, who thought that America
ought to be equally interested with Europe in overthrowing the military
despotism of Napoleon, and should not conspire with him for gain. At first
the new war disconcerted the feeble Ministry that remained in office on the
death of Spencer Perceval: they counted on preventing it, and did their
utmost to stop it after it was begun. The tone of arrogance which had so
long characterized government and press, disappeared for the moment.
Obscure newspapers, like the London “Evening Star,” still sneered at the
idea that Great Britain was to be “driven from the proud pre-eminence
which the blood and treasure of her sons have attained for her among the
nations, by a piece of striped bunting flying at the mastheads of a few fir-
built frigates, manned by a handful of bastards and outlaws,”—a phrase
which had great success in America,—but such defiances expressed a

temper studiously held in restraint previous to the moment when the war
was seen to be inevitable.
Castlereagh did not abandon the hope of peace until Jonathan Russell,
August 24, reported to him the concessions which the President required
antecedent to negotiation, the stoppage of impressments, dismissal of
impressed seamen, indemnity for spoliations, and abandonment of paper
blockades. The British secretary intimated that he thought these demands,
2
as conditions precedent to an armistice, somewhat insulting; and in
conversation he explained to Russell that such concessions would merely
3
cost the Ministry their places without result. “You are not aware,” he said,
“of the great sensibility and jealousy of the people of England on this
subject; and no administration could expect to remain in power that should
consent to renounce the right of impressment or to suspend the practice,
without certainty of an arrangement which should obviously be calculated
to secure its object.” Russell then proposed an informal understanding,—
adding of his own accord, without authority from his Government, a
proposal, afterward adopted by Congress, that the United States should
naturalize no more British seamen. Castlereagh made the obvious reply that
an informal understanding offered no more guaranty to England than a
formal one; that it had the additional disadvantage of bearing on its face a
character of disguise; that in any case the discussion of guaranties must
precede the understanding; and that Russell had on this subject neither
4
authority nor instructions.
The correspondence closed September 19, and Russell left England; but
not until October 13, after learning that the President had refused to ratify
the armistice made by Prevost with Dearborn, did the British government
order general reprisals,—and even this order closed with a proviso that
nothing therein contained should affect the previous authority given to
Admiral Sir John Borlase Warren to arrange a cessation of hostilities.
The realization that no escape could be found from an American war
was forced on the British public at a moment of much discouragement.
Almost simultaneously a series of misfortunes occurred which brought the
stoutest and most intelligent Englishmen to the verge of despair. In Spain
Wellington, after winning the battle of Salamanca in July, occupied Madrid
in August, and obliged Soult to evacuate Andalusia; but his siege of Burgos

failed, and as the French generals concentrated their scattered forces,
Wellington was obliged to abandon Madrid once more. October 21, he was
again in full retreat on Portugal. The apparent failure of his campaign was
almost simultaneous with the apparent success of Napoleon’s; for the
Emperor entered Moscow September 14, and the news of this triumph,
probably decisive of Russian submission, reached England about October 3.
Three days later arrived intelligence of William Hull’s surrender at Detroit;
but this success was counterbalanced by simultaneous news of Isaac Hull’s
startling capture of the “Guerriere,” and the certainty of a prolonged war.
In the desponding condition of the British people,—with a deficient
harvest, bad weather, wheat at nearly five dollars a bushel, and the
American supply likely to be cut off; consols at 57½, gold at thirty per cent
premium; a Ministry without credit or authority, and a general
consciousness of blunders, incompetence, and corruption,—every new tale
of disaster sank the hopes of England and called out wails of despair. In that
state of mind the loss of the “Guerriere” assumed portentous dimensions.
The “Times” was especially loud in lamenting the capture:—

“We witnessed the gloom which that event cast over high and
honorable minds.... Never before in the history of the world did an
English frigate strike to an American; and though we cannot say that
Captain Dacres, under all circumstances, is punishable for this act, yet
we do say there are commanders in the English navy who would a
thousand times rather have gone down with their colors flying, than
have set their fellow sailors so fatal an example.”

No country newspaper in America, railing at Hull’s cowardice and
treachery, showed less knowledge or judgment than the London “Times,”
which had written of nothing but war since its name had been known in
England. Any American could have assured the English press that British
frigates before the “Guerriere” had struck to American; and even in England
men had not forgotten the name of the British frigate “Serapis,” or that of
the American captain Paul Jones. Yet the “Times’s” ignorance was less
unreasonable than its requirement that Dacres should have gone down with
his ship,—a cry of passion the more unjust to Dacres because he fought his
ship as long as she could float. Such sensitiveness seemed extravagant in a

society which had been hardened by centuries of warfare; yet the “Times”
reflected fairly the feelings of Englishmen. George Canning, speaking in
5
open Parliament not long afterward, said that the loss of the “Guerriere”
and the “Macedonian” produced a sensation in the country scarcely to be
equalled by the most violent convulsions of Nature. “Neither can I agree
with those who complain of the shock of consternation throughout Great
Britain as having been greater than the occasion required.... It cannot be too
deeply felt that the sacred spell of the invincibility of the British navy was
broken by those unfortunate captures.”
Of all spells that could be cast on a nation, that of believing itself
invincible was perhaps the one most profitably broken; but the process of
recovering its senses was agreeable to no nation, and to England, at that
moment of distress, it was as painful as Canning described. The matter was
not mended by the “Courier” and “Morning Post,” who, taking their tone
from the Admiralty, complained of the enormous superiority of the
American frigates, and called them “line-of-battle ships in disguise.”
Certainly the American forty-four was a much heavier ship than the British
thirty-eight, but the difference had been as well known in the British navy
before these actions as it was afterward; and Captain Dacres himself, the
Englishman who best knew the relative force of the ships, told his court of
6
inquiry a different story: “I am so well aware that the success of my
opponent was owing to fortune, that it is my earnest wish, and would be the
happiest period of my life, to be once more opposed to the ‘Constitution,’
with them [the old crew] under my command, in a frigate of similar force
with the ‘Guerriere.’” After all had been said, the unpleasant result
remained that in future British frigates, like other frigates, could safely fight
only their inferiors in force. What applied to the “Guerriere” and
“Macedonian” against the “Constitution” and “United States,” where the
British force was inferior, applied equally to the “Frolic” against the
“Wasp,” where no inferiority could be shown. The British newspapers
thenceforward admitted what America wished to prove, that, ship for ship,
British were no more than the equals of Americans.
Society soon learned to take a more sensible view of the subject, but as
the first depression passed away a consciousness of personal wrong took its
place. The United States were supposed to have stabbed England in the
back at the moment when her hands were tied, when her existence was in

the most deadly peril and her anxieties were most heavy. England never
could forgive treason so base and cowardice so vile. That Madison had been
from the first a tool and accomplice of Bonaparte was thenceforward so
fixed an idea in British history that time could not shake it. Indeed, so
complicated and so historical had the causes of war become that no one
even in America could explain or understand them, while Englishmen could
see only that America required England as the price of peace to destroy
herself by abandoning her naval power, and that England preferred to die
fighting rather than to die by her own hand. The American party in England
was extinguished; no further protest was heard against the war; and the
British people thought moodily of revenge.
This result was unfortunate for both parties, but was doubly unfortunate
for America, because her mode of making the issue told in her enemy’s
favor. The same impressions which silenced in England open sympathy
with America, stimulated in America acute sympathy with England.
Argument was useless against people in a passion, convinced of their own
injuries. Neither Englishmen nor Federalists were open to reasoning. They
found their action easy from the moment they classed the United States as
an ally of France, like Bavaria or Saxony; and they had no scruples of
conscience, for the practical alliance was clear, and the fact proved
sufficiently the intent.
This outbreak of feeling took place in the month of October, when the
hopes of England were lowest. While Wellington retreated from Madrid and
Burgos to Ciudad Rodrigo; while Napoleon was supposed to be still
victorious at Moscow, although his retreat began October 19, two days
before Wellington abandoned the siege of Burgos; and while, October 18,
the “Wasp” captured the “Frolic,” and October 25 the “United States”
captured the “Macedonian,”—in England public opinion broke into outcry
against the temporizing conduct of the government toward America, and
demanded vigorous prosecution of the war.

“In any other times than the present,” said the “Times” of October
30, “it would appear utterly incredible that men should adopt so
drivelling a line of conduct as to think of waging a war of conciliation
and forbearance, and that with enemies whom they themselves
represent as alike faithless and implacable.”

The Government hastened to pacify these complaints. Orders were
given to hurry an overwhelming force of ships-of-the-line and frigates to
the American coast. Almost immediately England recovered from her
dismay; for November 11 news arrived that the Russians were again
masters of Moscow, and that Napoleon was retreating. Day after day the
posts arrived from Russia, bringing accounts more and more encouraging,
until when Parliament met, November 24, the hope that Napoleon might
never escape from Russia had become strong.
Thus the new Ministry found themselves able to face opposition with
unexpected strength. Madison’s calculations, reasonable as they seemed to
be, were overthrown, and the glow of English delight over the success of
Russia made the burden of the American war seem easy to bear. In
Parliament hardly a voice was raised for peace. The Marquess Wellesley in
the debate on the King’s speech attacked ministers, not because they had
brought the country into war with America, but because they had been
unprepared for it; “they ought as statesmen to have known that the
American government had been long infected with a deadly hatred toward
this country, and, if he might be allowed an unusual application of a word,
7
with a deadly affection toward France.” America had been suffered to
carry on hostilities without danger to herself, and must be convinced of her
folly and desperation. Lord Grenville also asserted that the American
government was always hostile to England, but that only the conduct of
8
ministers had enabled it to pluck up courage to show its enmity. Canning,
in the Commons, attacked still more sharply the forbearance of the Ministry
and their silence toward America:

“It never entered into my mind that the mighty naval power of
England would be allowed to sleep while our commerce was swept
from the surface of the Atlantic; and that at the end of six months’ war
it would be proclaimed in a speech from the throne that the time was
now at length come when the long-withheld thunder of Britain must be
launched against an implacable foe, and the fulness of her power at
length drawn out. It never entered into my mind that we should send a
fleet to take rest and shelter in our own ports in North America, and
9
that we should then attack the American ports with a flag of truce.”

From such criticisms Lord Castlereagh had no difficulty in defending
himself. Whitbread alone maintained that injustice had been done to
America, and that measures ought to be taken for peace.
This debate took place November 30, two days after the destruction of
Napoleon’s army in passing the Beresina. From that moment, and during
the next eighteen months, England had other matters to occupy her mind
than the disagreeable subject of the American war. Napoleon arrived in
Paris December 18, and set himself to the task of renewing the army of half
a million men which had been lost in Russia, and of strengthening his hold
on Germany, where a violent popular emotion threatened to break into open
alliance with the Russian Czar. December 30 the Prussian corps of the
Grand Army deserted to the Russians; and soon afterward the French
abandoned Poland and the province of old Prussia, and with difficulty, no
enemy attacking, held Berlin. The interest of England turned to the
negotiations and military movements of the Continent, After January 1,
1813, Englishmen never willingly thought of the American war, or gave
attention to terms of peace. They regarded the result in America as
dependent on the result in Germany; and they would have ignored the war
altogether had not the American frigates and privateers from time to time
compelled their attention.
With the prospect of a great trade about to open with the continent of
Europe, as the French garrisons were driven out of Germany and Spain,
English manufacturers could afford to wait with patience for better times;
but although a nation so long accustomed to the chances of war could adapt
itself quickly to changes in the course of trade, England felt more than it
liked to admit the annoyance of American hostilities on the ocean. During
the first few months this annoyance was the greater because it was thought
to be the result of official negligence. December 30, a merchant writing to
the “Times” declared that “the Americans have taken upward of two
hundred sail of British merchantmen and three or four packets from the
West Indies. Recent advices from the Windward Islands state that the
Admiral is mortified at the depredations of the American privateers, it not
being in his power to prevent them, most of the few cruisers under his
orders having been out so long from England that their copper is nearly off,
—so that the privateers remain unmolested, as they can sail round our ships
whenever they think proper; they are in consequence become so daring as

even to cut vessels out of harbors, though protected by batteries, and to land
and carry off cattle from plantations. The accounts from Jamaica by the
mail which arrived on Friday represent that island to be literally blockaded
by American privateers.”
When the press spoke at all of naval matters, it talked wildly about the
American frigates. “Such fearful odds,” said the “Morning Post” in regard
to the “Macedonian,” December 26, “would break the heart and spirit of our
sailors, and dissolve that charm, that spell, which has made our navy
invincible.” “The land-spell of the French is broken, and so is our sea-
spell,” said the “Times.” The American frigates were exaggerated into
ships-of-the-line, and were to be treated as such, British frigates keeping out
of their way. At first, the British naval officers hesitated to accept this view
of a subject which had never before been suggested. Neither Captain Dacres
nor his court-martial attributed his defeat to this cause; but before long,
nearly all England agreed to rate the American frigates as seventy-fours,
and complained that the Americans, with their accustomed duplicity, should
have deceived the British navy by representing the “Constitution” and
“United States” to be frigates. The “Times” protested in vain against this
weakness:—

“Good God! that a few short months should have so altered the
tone of British sentiments! Is it true, or is it not, that our navy was
accustomed to hold the Americans in utter contempt? Is it true, or is it
not, that the ‘Guerriere’ sailed up and down the American coast with
her name painted in large characters on her sails, in boyish defiance of
Commodore Rodgers? Would any captain, however young, have
indulged such a foolish piece of vain-boasting if he had not been
10
carried forward by the almost unanimous feeling of his associates?”

To the charge that the British Admiralty had been taken unprepared by
the war, the Admiralty replied that its naval force on the American station at
the outbreak of hostilities exceeded the American in the proportion of
eighty-five to fourteen.

“We have since sent out more line-of-battle ships and heavier
frigates,” added the “Times,” January 4, 1813. “Surely we must now
mean to smother the American navy.... A very short time before the
capture of the ‘Guerriere’ an American frigate was an object of ridicule
to our honest tars. Now the prejudice is actually setting the other way,
and great pains seem to be taken by the friends of ministers to prepare
the public for the surrender of a British seventy-four to an opponent
lately so much contemned.”

The loss of two or three thirty-eight gun frigates on the ocean was a
matter of trifling consequence to the British government, which had a force
of four ships-of-the-line and six or eight frigates in Chesapeake Bay alone,
and which built every year dozens of ships-of-the-line and frigates to
replace those lost or worn out; but although the American privateers
wrought more injury to British interests than was caused or could be caused
by the American navy, the pride of England cared little about mercantile
losses, and cared immensely for its fighting reputation. The theory that the
American was a degenerate Englishman,—a theory chiefly due to American
teachings,—lay at the bottom of British politics. Even the late British
minister at Washington, Foster, a man of average intelligence, thought it
manifest good taste and good sense to say of the Americans in his speech of
February 18, 1813, in Parliament, that “generally speaking, they were not a
11
people we should be proud to acknowledge as our relations.” Decatur and
Hull were engaged in a social rather than in a political contest, and were
aware that the serious work on their hands had little to do with England’s
power, but much to do with her manners. The mortification of England at
the capture of her frigates was the measure of her previous arrogance.
The process of acquiring knowledge in such light as was furnished by
the cannon of Hull, Decatur, and Bainbridge could not be rendered easy or
rapid. News of the American victories dropped in at intervals, as though
American captains intentionally prolonged the enjoyment of their certain
success, in order to keep England in constant ill temper. News of the “Java”
arrived about the middle of March, and once more the press broke into a
chorus of complaints. The “Times” renewed its outcry; the “Courier”
abused the “Times” for its “tone of whining lamentation, of affected
sensibility, and puerile grief,” but admitted that the behavior of the

American frigates seemed extraordinary; while the “Pilot,” the chief naval
authority, lamented in set periods the incomprehensible event:—

“The public will learn, with sentiments which we shall not
presume to anticipate, that a third British frigate has struck to an
American. This is an occurrence that calls for serious reflection,—this,
and the fact stated in our paper of yesterday, that Loyd’s list contains
notices of upwards of five hundred British vessels captured in seven
months by the Americans. Five hundred merchantmen and three
frigates! Can these statements be true; and can the English people hear
them unmoved? Any one who had predicted such a result of an
American war this time last year would have been treated as a madman
or a traitor. He would have been told, if his opponents had
condescended to argue with him, that long ere seven months had
elapsed the American flag would be swept from the seas, the
contemptible navy of the United States annihilated, and their maritime
arsenals rendered a heap of ruins. Yet down to this moment not a single
American frigate has struck her flag. They insult and laugh at our want
of enterprise and vigor. They leave their ports when they please, and
return to them when it suits their convenience; they traverse the
Atlantic; they beset the West India Islands; they advance to the very
chops of the Channel; they parade along the coasts of South America;
nothing chases, nothing intercepts, nothing engages them but to yield
them triumph.”

The immediate moral drawn from these complaints was the necessity of
punishing the United States; but no one could longer deny that the
necessary punishment was likely to prove tedious and costly. February 18
Parliament took up the subject of the American war, and both Houses
debated it. In the Lords, Bathurst made a temperate speech devoted to
showing that America in claiming immunity from impressments claimed
more than England could afford to yield,—“a right hitherto exercised
without dispute, and of the most essential importance to our maritime
superiority.” Lord Lansdowne replied with tact and judgment, rather hinting
than saying that the right was becoming too costly for assertion. “Some
time ago it was imagined on all hands that in the event of a war with

America, the first operation would be the destruction of her navy. What the
fact had turned out to be, he was almost ashamed to mention. If any one
were asked what had been the success of our navy in this war, he would
12
unfortunately find some difficulty in giving an answer.” Lord Liverpool,
while defending his administration from the charge of imbecility, tended to
strengthen the prevailing impression by the tone of his complaints against
America: “Although she might have had wrongs, although she might have
had grounds for complaint, although she might have had pressing
provocations, yet she ought to have looked to this country as the guardian
power to which she was indebted not only for her comforts, not only for her
13
rank in the scale of civilization, but for her very existence.” Perhaps these
words offered as good an explanation as the Prime Minister could give of
the war itself, for apart from the unconscious sarcasm they contained, they
implied that England assumed to act as guardian to the United States, and
had hitherto denied to the United States the right to act independently.
Both Lord Holland and Lord Erskine gently glanced at this assumption;
and Erskine went so far as to intimate that sooner or later England must
give way. “It has been said that this war, if the Americans persist in their
claims, must be eternal. If so, our prospects are disheartening. America is a
growing country,—increasing every day in numbers, in strength, in
resources of every kind. In a lengthened contest all the advantages are on
her side, and against this country.” The warning lost none of its point from
Lord Eldon, who, always ready to meet any logical necessity by an equally
logical absurdity, granted that “unless America should think proper to alter
her tone, he did not see how the national differences could be settled.”
Such a debate was little likely to discourage America. Every country
must begin war by asserting that it will never give way, and of all countries
England, which had waged innumerable wars, knew best when
perseverance cost more than concession. Even at that early moment
Parliament was evidently perplexed, and would willingly have yielded had
it seen means of escape from its naval fetich, impressment. Perhaps the
perplexity was more evident in the Commons than in the Lords, for
Castlereagh, while defending his own course with elaborate care, visibly
stumbled over the right of impressment. Even while claiming that its
abandonment would have been “vitally dangerous if not fatal” to England’s
security, he added that he “would be the last man in the world to underrate

the inconvenience which the Americans sustained in consequence of our
assertion of the right of search.” The embarrassment became still plainer
when he narrowed the question to one of statistics, and showed that the
whole contest was waged over the forcible retention of some eight hundred
seamen among one hundred and forty-five thousand employed in British
service. Granting the number were twice as great, he continued, “could the
House believe that there was any man so infatuated, or that the British
empire was driven to such straits, that for such a paltry consideration as
seventeen hundred sailors, his Majesty’s government would needlessly
irritate the pride of a neutral nation or violate that justice which was due to
one country from another?” If Liverpool’s argument explained the causes of
war, Castlereagh’s explained its inevitable result, for since the war must
cost England at least ten million pounds a year, could Parliament be so
infatuated as to pay ten thousand pounds a year for each American sailor
detained in service, when one tenth of the amount, if employed in raising
the wages of the British sailor, would bring any required number of seamen
back to their ships? The whole British navy in 1812 cost twenty million
pounds; the pay-roll amounted to only three million pounds; the common
sailor was paid four pounds bounty and eighteen pounds a year, which
might have been trebled at half the cost of an American war.
No one rose in the House to press this reasoning. Castlereagh
completed his argument, showing, with more temper than logic, that
England was wholly in the right and America altogether in the wrong; the
American government and people were infatuated; they had an inordinate
and insolent spirit of encroachment and unreasonable hostility; had
prostituted their character and showed an unexampled degeneracy of
feeling. “For America he confessed that he deeply lamented the injury
which her character had sustained by the conduct of her government; it was
conduct unworthy of any State calling itself civilized and free.”
Castlereagh’s invective had the merit of being as little serious as his
logic, and left as little sting; but what Castlereagh could say without causing
more than a smile, never failed to exasperate Americans like drops of vitriol
when it came from the lips of George Canning. Canning had not hitherto
succeeded better in winning the confidence of England than in curbing the
insolence of America; he was still in opposition, while the man whom in
1807 he could hardly condescend to consider a rival was Secretary for

Foreign Affairs and leader of the House. Worst of all, Canning could not
escape the necessity of supporting him, for Castlereagh’s position in regard
to America was strong, while Canning’s own position was weak and needed
constant excuse. In the debate of Feb. 18, 1813, he undertook the difficult
task of appearing to attack Castlereagh while defending himself.
Canning’s speech began by an argument so characteristic as to win the
praise of John Wilson Croker, Secretary to the Admiralty,—a man less than
most politicians prone to waste praise on opponents. Whitbread had quoted,
in excuse of the American practice of naturalization, two Acts of
Parliament,—one the 6th Anne, according to which any foreigner who
served two years in any British vessel, military or merchant, without further
condition or even oath, or more than the statement of the fact of service,
became entitled to every protection of a natural subject of the realm. No
words could be more emphatic than those of the statutes. “Such foreign
mariner,” said the 6th Anne, “shall to all intents and purposes be deemed
and taken to be a natural-born subject of his Majesty’s kingdom of Great
Britain, and have and enjoy all the privileges, powers, rights, and
capacities” which a native could enjoy. Again, by the 13th George II. every
foreign seaman who in time of war served two years on board an English
ship by virtue of the king’s proclamation was ipso facto naturalized. Other
naturalization laws existed, guaranteeing all the privileges of a natural-born
subject to foreigners under certain conditions; but the Acts of Anne and
George II. were most in point, as they referred to foreign sailors alone; and
with these laws on the statute-book Parliament seemed to stand in an
unfavorable position for disputing the right of America to adopt a similar
system. Canning’s argument on the meaning of these statutes was
interesting, not only as an example of his own mind, but as the only legal
justification of a long war which England fought against America at
prodigious expense,—a justification which she maintained for years to be
sound.

“My construction of the Acts of Anne was altogether different,”
said Canning in reply to these quotations. “I understood that by it this
country professed to give that only which it is competent to bestow
without interfering in any degree with the rights or claims of other
Powers; that it imparted to foreigners on certain conditions certain

municipal privileges, but leaves untouched and unimpaired their native
allegiance.... The enactments of this statute are a testimony of national
gratitude to brave men of whatever country who may lend their aid in
fighting the battles of Great Britain, but not an invitation to them to
abandon the cause of their own country when it may want their aid; not
an encouragement to them to deny or to undervalue the sacred and
indestructible duty which they owe to their own sovereign and to their
native soil.”

Something peculiarly sacred must have inhered in the statute of Anne
which thus conferred naturalization on Dutch or Swedish seamen as “a
testimony of national gratitude” for “fighting the battles of Great Britain”
for two years in the British merchant service in time of peace, and
converted them into citizens enjoying “all the privileges, powers, rights, and
capacities” of natural-born subjects of Great Britain, which consisted,
according to Canning, only in “certain municipal privileges” in England,
subject to the will of a foreign sovereign. Such a definition of the
“privileges, powers, rights, and capacities” of a natural-born subject of his
Majesty’s kingdom of Great Britain seemed new to American lawyers; but
it was received with applause by the House, and was further developed by
Croker, who laid down the principle, new to the popular view of England’s
pride, that the naturalized citizen, who was by the law required “to all
intents and purposes” to “be deemed and taken to be a natural-born
subject,” was in fact by the Admiralty “considered as having two countries,
—the voluntary service of the one being looked upon as unable to debar the
natural allegiance to the other.”
The rest of Canning’s speech consisted in defence of impressment and
of paper blockades, and in panegyric upon European republics at the
expense of “the hard features of transatlantic democracy.” While assailing
the British government because “the arm which should have launched the
thunderbolt was occupied in guiding the pen,” he expressed his devout wish
that the war might not be concluded until England had smothered in
victories the disasters to which she was so little habituated. If an harangue
of this character served in any degree to guide or aid the councils of
England, it served much more effectually the war-party of America, where
Canning was held in singular antipathy, and where every admission he

made in regard to “the shock of consternation” caused by the American
frigates gave pleasure more acute than any pain his sarcastic phrases could
thenceforward inflict.
Alexander Baring spoke with his usual good sense, pointing out that
Castlereagh’s speech proved chiefly the greater interest of England to call
for and court negotiation on the subject of impressments. Whitbread
challenged public opinion by going to the verge of actual sympathy with
America. The debate ended in an unopposed vote for a vigorous prosecution
of the war, leaving the subject in truth untouched, except that England had
avowed an extreme desire to punish America, and naturally felt an extreme
irritation because America showed ability to bear punishment.
The spring came, bringing no new prospects. England refused to make
a suggestion on which the governments could discuss terms of peace. She
refused even to think upon the problem, but massed a huge armament in
Chesapeake Bay and Delaware River to restore her naval invincibility. Yet
reflection seemed still to be silently at work, for, March 22, the “Times”
interrupted its outcry over the loss of the “Java” by publishing a temperate
article on the new Foreign Seamen Bill of Congress,—an article in which
the suggestion first appeared that peace might after all be restored by
simply omitting in the pacification any mention of impressment. The idea
found support nowhere; but while, insufficient as it seemed, the human
imagination could hardly conceive of any other expedient, at the same
moment the uselessness of trying to obtain peace on any terms was made
clear by the interference of the Russian Czar.

CHAPTER II.
Napoleon declared war against Russia June 22, four days after the
American declaration against England; crossed the Niemen June 24, and
August 1 was already at Vitebsk, about three hundred miles south of St.
Petersburg, and about equally distant from the frontier and from Moscow.
There, in the heart of Russia, he paused to collect his strength for some
blow that should lay the Russian empire at his feet; and while he hesitated,
the Czar, August 3, returned to his capital to wait. At that moment the
chances of war favored Napoleon. Nothing was more likely than his success
in destroying the Russian army, and in dictating terms of peace in St.
Petersburg.
News of the American declaration of war reached St. Petersburg August
6, and added a new anxiety to the overburdened mind of Alexander. The
American minister at that court found himself in a delicate position. His
Government declared war against England and became for military
purposes an ally of France at the moment when Russia entered into formal
alliance with England and went to war with France. If Napoleon caught and
crushed the Russian army and marched on St. Petersburg, the American
minister would certainly be no favorite with Russians; if Napoleon were
beaten, the American minister need expect no consideration, for in that case
every influence at the Russian Court was certain to be English, and from
England could come no favors.
At the moment when Brock, with his force of a few hundred men
attacked Detroit, Napoleon with two hundred thousand men moved upon
Smolensk and the Russian army. August 15, he celebrated his fête-day on
the banks of the Dnieper; and while Hull was surrendering the fort of
Detroit, the Russian army, hardly in better humor than the Ohio militia,
were preparing to abandon Smolensk to save themselves from Hull’s fate.
Napoleon took possession of the town August 18, but failed to destroy the
Russian army, and then, turning away from St. Petersburg, pursued his
retreating enemy toward Moscow. The battle of Borodino, or Moscowa,

followed, September 6, and the French army entered Moscow September
14. There it remained more than a month.
During these weeks of alarm and incessant fighting, the Czar still found
time to think of American affairs. The influence of Count Roumanzoff,
though lessening every day, still controlled the regular course of foreign
relations. September 21 Roumanzoff sent for Adams, and said that the
Emperor had been much concerned to find the interests of his subjects
defeated and lost by the new war, and it had occurred to him that perhaps an
arrangement might be more easily made by an indirect than by a direct
negotiation: he wished to know whether an offer of mediation on his part
14
would meet with any difficulty on the part of the United States. Adams
replied that his Government could not fail to consider it as a new evidence
of the Czar’s friendship, but suggested that there was a third party to be
consulted,—the British government. Roumanzoff answered that he had
already sounded the British minister, who had written to Lord Castlereagh
on the subject.
The British minister, lately arrived in Russia, was not a person
calculated to aid Roumanzoff. Lord Cathcart, who had been chosen by
Castlereagh for the post of ambassador at St. Petersburg, was best known as
the commander of the Copenhagen expedition in 1807. Some Americans
might perhaps remember that he had served in America during the
Revolutionary War. A well-informed writer in the London “Times,” who
belonged to the Wellesley interest, seemed to doubt Lord Cathcart’s
qualifications for his new post. “He is only better fitted for it than the horse
15
he rides,” was the criticism; but the better he had been fitted for it, the
worse he would have suited Roumanzoff’s purpose, for his first object
could be no other than to overthrow Roumanzoff and thwart his policy. No
serious support of Russian mediation could be expected from him. He
began his career by seeking access to the Emperor through other channels
16
than the chancellor.
Adams, September 30, advised his Government of the Czar’s proposed
mediation. October 15, Roumanzoff announced that his proposal was ready,
and would be sent at once to Washington,—which was actually done, before
receiving a reply from London. The step could hardly please the British
government; but Roumanzoff seemed almost to take pleasure in

disregarding England, and perhaps felt that the course of events must either
remove him entirely from the government, or make him independent of
British support. He clung to the American mediation as the last remnant of
his anti-British policy.
The British government would have preferred to make no answer to the
Russian offer of mediation. To English statesmen the idea was absurd that
England could allow Russia, more than France or the United States
themselves, to mediate on blockade and impressment, or upon points of
neutrality in any form; but Castlereagh had every reason to conciliate the
Czar, and rather than flatly reject a suggestion from such a source, he
replied that he thought the time had not yet come, and that the offer would
17
not be accepted by America. So it happened that the offer of Russian
mediation went to America without positive objection from England,
finding its way slowly across the Atlantic during the winter months.
With it went the tale of Napoleon’s immense disaster. October 23 he
began his retreat; November 23 he succeeded in crossing the Beresina and
escaping capture; December 5 he abandoned what was still left of his army;
and December 19, after travelling secretly and without rest across Europe,
he appeared suddenly in Paris, still powerful, but in danger. Nothing could
be better calculated to support the Russian mediation in the President’s
mind. The possibility of remaining without a friend in the world while
carrying on a war without hope of success, gave to the Czar’s friendship a
value altogether new.
Other news crossed the ocean at the same time, but encouraged no hope
that England would give way. First in importance, and not to be trifled with,
was the British official announcement, dated December 26, 1812, of the
blockade of the Chesapeake and Delaware. Americans held that this
18
blockade was illegal, —a blockade of a coast, not of a port; a paper-
blockade, one of the grievances against which the war was waged; but
whatever they might choose to call it, they could not successfully disprove
its efficiency, or deny that it made Chesapeake Bay, Delaware River, and
the Vineyard Sound little better than British waters. Export of American
produce from the Chesapeake and Delaware ceased.
The blockade, though serious beyond all other military measures,
roused less attention and less protest than another measure of the British

government which had the character of a profitable insult. A circular dated
November 9, addressed to the governors of West Indian colonies by the
British government, authorized them to issue licenses for importation of
necessary supplies during the war,—a precaution commonly taken to meet
the risk of famine in those regions. The Governor of the Bermudas, in
issuing a proclamation January 14, 1813, published the circular, which
19
contained one unusual provision: —

“Whatever importations are proposed to be made, under the order,
from the United States of America, should be by your licenses confined
to the ports in the Eastern States exclusively, unless you have reason to
suppose that the object of the order would not be fulfilled if licenses
are not also granted for the importations from the other ports in the
United States.”

Probably the discrimination was intended, like the exemption from
blockade, as a favor to New England, and must have been meant to be more
or less secret, since publication was likely to counteract its effect; but in
time of war the British government was at liberty to seek supplies where it
chose.
Madison thought differently. He sent to Congress, February 24, 1813, a
special Message expressing indignation at the conduct of England.

“The policy now proclaimed to the world,” he charged, “introduces
into her modes of warfare a system equally distinguished by the
deformity of its features and the depravity of its character,—having for
its object to dissolve the ties of allegiance and the sentiments of loyalty
in the adversary nation, and to seduce and separate its component parts
the one from the other. The general tendency of these demoralizing and
disorganizing contrivances will be reprobated by the civilized world.”

Although many persons shared Madison’s view of war as a compulsory
process of international law, Federalists and Republicans were at a loss to
understand his view of “deformity” and “depravity” in modes of warfare.
The whole truth in regard to West and East Florida was not known, but so

much was notorious, even in 1811, as to warrant the British minister in
protesting “against an attempt so contrary to every principle of public
20
justice, faith, and national honor.” What the United States could do in
Florida in time of peace, England could surely do in Massachusetts in time
of war; but if England’s conduct was in reality deformed and depraved, as
charged, the celebrated proclamation of William Hull to the Canadians in
1812, inviting them to quit their allegiance and to “choose wisely” the side
of the United States, should have been previously disavowed by the United
States government. No little ridicule was caused by the contrast between
Madison’s attitude toward Canada and his denunciation of England’s
attitude toward Massachusetts.
Taken together, the news from Europe in the last days of winter gave
ground for deep reflection. With the overthrow of Napoleon’s authority and
the close alliance between Great Britain and Russia, the last chance of
forcing concessions from England vanished. A long war, with no prospect
of success, lay before the United States. New York harbor, the Delaware
River, and Chesapeake Bay were already so nearly closed to commerce as
to foreshadow complete stoppage; and if Boston was still open, its
privileges must soon cease unless Great Britain deliberately intended to
regard New England as neutral. All this, though alarming enough, might be
met with courage; but against the pronounced disaffection of Massachusetts
and Connecticut no defence existed; and whenever those States should pass
from stolid inertia into the stage of active resistance to the war, the situation
would become hopeless. Under such circumstances England would have a
strong motive for refusing peace on any terms.
The shadow of these fears lay over the Inaugural Address which the
President pronounced March 4, 1813, after taking for a second time the oath
of office at the Capitol. His speech contained only the defence of a war that
needed no defence, and complaints against England which were drowned in
the tumult of war, the loudest complaint that man could make. Every tone
showed that Madison felt doubtful of support, and that in proving the war to
be just he betrayed consciousness that it was not energetic. Perhaps the
most characteristic sentence in the Address was that in which he
congratulated the country “with a proud satisfaction,” that in carrying on
the war, “no principle of justice or honor, no usage of civilized nations, no
precept of courtesy or humanity, have been infringed; the war has been

waged on our part with scrupulous regard to all these relations, and in a
spirit of liberality which was never surpassed.” Madison’s phrases were the
more remarkable because at about the same time the British government
announced its intention of making America feel what war meant. The
courtesy and humanity of the war were to be all on the American side;
while not a word in the Inaugural Address gave the pledge which could win
victories,—the assurance that the President himself had energy and meant
to exert it.
Besides the alarming difficulties which rose partly from failure of
military calculations at home and abroad, but chiefly from want of national
experience in the business of war, other annoyances surrounded the
President, and could not fail to make him wish for peace. Armstrong had
not been six weeks in the War Department before he set the members of
Administration at odds. The factious days of Robert Smith returned, and the
President found the task of maintaining discipline as great in the Cabinet as
it was in the army. One of the strongest characters called into prominence
by the war, who was himself destined to have charge of the War
Department, spoke of Armstrong, four months later, in language hinting
impatient consciousness of something too complicated to describe. “And
Armstrong!—he was the devil from the beginning, is now, and ever will
21
be.” Only by studying what Armstrong did, could the causes be
understood of the passion which he excited in every man he crossed.
Monroe was the first to resent Armstrong’s proceedings. Monroe’s
character, the opposite of Armstrong’s, was transparent; no one could
mistake his motives, except by supposing them to be complex; and in his
relations with Armstrong his motives were simpler than usual, for
Armstrong’s views could not be carried into effect without loss of pride to
Monroe. Already Monroe had surrendered the War Department to him, with
the expectation that if any one was to have general command of the armies
in the field, Monroe was to be the man. Down to the time when Armstrong
took control, the idea was universal that the next campaign was to be fought
22
by Monroe. Jan. 13, 1813, Serurier wrote to his Government:

“There is much talk of Mr. Monroe for the command of the army,
and he has shown a zeal in organizing his Department which tends to

confirm me in that belief.... Mr. Monroe is not a brilliant man, and no
one expects to find a great captain in him; but he served through the
War of Independence with much bravery under the orders and by the
side of Washington. He is a man of great good sense, of the most
austere honor, the purest patriotism, and the most universally admitted
integrity. He is loved and respected by all parties, and it is believed that
he would soon gain the hearts of all his officers and soldiers. He would
be given a staff as good as possible, and with this assistance as well as
all his own recognized resources, it is believed that he would be
perfectly suited to carry on the campaign about to open against the last
continental possession of England in America.”

As acting Secretary of War, Monroe had urged Congress to increase the
number of major-generals; and after Armstrong took charge of the
Department Congress passed the Act of February 24, 1813, authorizing the
increase. February 27 the nominations were sent to the Senate. In a letter to
23
Jefferson, Monroe told the story: —

“On the day that the nomination of these officers was made to the
Senate the President sent for me and stated that the Secretary of War
had placed me in his list of major-generals, at their head, and wished to
know whether I would accept the appointment, intimating that he did
not think I ought to do it, nor did he wish me to leave my present
station. I asked where I was to serve. He supposed it would be with the
Northern army under General Dearborn. I replied that if I left my
present office for such a command it would be inferred that I had a
passion for military life, which I had not; that in such a station I could
be of no service in any view to the general cause or to military
operations, even perhaps with the army in which I might serve; that
with a view to the public interest the commander ought to receive all
the support which the government could give him, and by accepting the
station proposed, I might take from General Dearborn without aiding
the cause by anything that I might add. I stated, however, that the grade
made no difficulty with me, a desire to be useful being my only object;
and that if the command was given me even with a lower grade than
that suggested, admitting the possibility, I would accept it. The

difficulty related to General Dearborn, who could not well be removed
to an inactive station.”

Monroe said, in effect, that he would have the command in chief or
nothing. Armstrong said, in effect, that he meant to be commander-in-chief
himself. The new major-generals were James Wilkinson, Wade Hampton,
William R. Davy of South Carolina, Morgan Lewis of New York, William
Henry Harrison of Indiana Territory, and Aaron Ogden of New Jersey. The
command of the Northern army was left to Dearborn, and as the world
knew Dearborn’s incompetence to conduct a campaign, no one was
surprised to learn that Armstrong meant to conduct it as Secretary of War, at
the army headquarters in the field, performing the duties of lieutenant-
general.
No sooner was Monroe satisfied that Armstrong meant to follow this
course than he took the unusual step of writing to the President a formal
remonstrance against his colleague’s supposed plan. The act appointing six
major-generals was approved February 24. The same evening Monroe had a
conversation on the subject with the President, and the next day, February
24
25, submitted the substance of his remarks in writing. His argument
chiefly regarded the inconvenience and unconstitutionality of separating the
War Department from the President and of mixing military with civil
functions:—

“As soon as General Armstrong took charge of the Department at
War, I thought I saw his plan; that is, after he had held it a few days. I
saw distinctly that he intended to have no grade in the army which
should be competent to a general control of military operations; that he
meant to keep the whole in his own hands; that each operation should
be distinct and separate, with distinct and separate objects, and of
course to be directed by himself, not simply in outline but in detail. I
anticipated mischief from this, because I knew that the movements
could not be directed from this place. I did not then anticipate the
remedy which he had in mind.”

From that moment began a feud between the two Cabinet ministers.
The cause was obvious. Armstrong had found that if a general command
were to be created, it must be given to Monroe. Probably he felt no more
confidence in Monroe’s military abilities than in those of Dearborn; but
determined that his hand should not be thus forced, Armstrong decided to
25
retain Dearborn, although his opinion of Dearborn, as shown afterward,
made the retention an act of grave responsibility. The decision once taken,
he had no choice but to supply Dearborn’s wants by his own presence with
the army,—a course certain to challenge attack from all Virginia. Had
Armstrong been bent on destroying his rival by means which the world
could have found no chance to oppose or criticise, he would have removed
Dearborn, and would have sent Monroe to waste his reputation in the task
of conquering and holding Canada. The retention of Dearborn was an
unfortunate beginning for the new Secretary of War.
The first effect of Armstrong’s administration was to turn Monroe into
a vindictive enemy; the second was to alienate Gallatin. Of all the old
Republican leaders, Gallatin cared least for office and most for consistency.
Under any reasonable distribution of party favors, the Presidency should
have fallen to him after Madison, not only because he was the fittest man,
the oldest, ablest, and most useful member of the Executive government,
but also because he represented Pennsylvania; and if any State in the Union
had power to select a President, it was she. Madison would have been glad
to secure for Gallatin the succession; he had no special love or admiration
for Monroe, while his regard for Gallatin was strong and constant; but
Pennsylvania cared more for interests than for men, while Virginia cared so
much for men that she became prodigal of interests. Pennsylvania allowed
Virginia, through the agency of William B. Giles, Samuel Smith, and
Michael Leib, to thrust Gallatin aside and to open the path for a third
Virginian at the risk of the Union itself. Gallatin, too proud to complain, had
no longer an object of ambition; and from the moment ambition ceased
abstract ideas of duty alone remained to counteract the disgusts of
disappointment.
Gallatin’s abstract ideas were those of 1801,—simplicity, economy, and
purity. Financiering—the providing of money for wasteful expenditure—
was his abhorrence. “I cannot consent to act the part of a mere financier,”
26
he wrote to Jefferson in 1809; “to become a contriver of taxes, a dealer of

loans, a seeker of resources for the purpose of supporting useless baubles,
of increasing the number of idle and dissipated members of the community,
of fattening contractors, pursers, and agents, and of introducing in all its
ramifications that system of patronage, corruption, and rottenness which
you so justly execrate.” These words were meant to apply only to a state of
peace, but they applied equally well to a state of war from the moment war
became useless. In the beginning of Madison’s second term, no man of
intelligence denied that the war had failed; that its avowed objects could not
be gained; that every month of war increased the danger of disunion,
brought national bankruptcy nearer, and fastened habits of extravagance and
corruption on the country. From his post at the Treasury, Gallatin could see
better than most men the dangers, both financial and political, engendered
by the war, while his acquaintance with European affairs showed him the
need of rapid diplomacy.
Armstrong represented everything antagonistic to Gallatin; his methods
were arbitrary and underhand; his political training was that of the New
York school, tempered by personal contact with the court of Napoleon;
from him economy could hardly be expected. Yet perhaps the worst feature
of his administration was likely to be his use of patronage. The number of
Gallatin’s personal enemies was small, and the use of patronage in a way
that would outrage him seemed difficult; yet within a few weeks Armstrong
offended him deeply. March 18, 1813, William Duane, of the “Aurora”
newspaper, was appointed to the post of adjutant-general. The appointment
was improper, and the motives to which it was sure to be attributed made it
more scandalous than the unfitness of the person made it harmful to the
service. Gallatin’s anger was deep: “Duane’s last appointment has disgusted
me so far as to make me desirous of not being any longer associated with
27
those who have appointed him.”
Into this embroglio of national and personal difficulties Daschkoff, the
Russian chargé at Washington, suddenly dropped the Czar’s offer to
mediate a peace. Of its prompt acceptance, under such circumstances, no
one could doubt, and on this point the Administration was united.
Daschkoff’s letter bore date March 8, and Monroe’s reply was sent March
11. The letter of reply was a civil and somewhat flattering compliment to
28
Alexander; the mission itself was a matter to be more deliberately
arranged.

The next decision regarded the character of the mission. The necessary
powers might have been sent, without further form, to Minister Adams at
St. Petersburg, but the President and his advisers thought with reason that
the addition of other negotiators to the mission would give more weight and
29
political effect to the measure. They decided to send two new envoys to
join Adams; and on the same reasoning to select prominent men. As a
guaranty of their wish for peace, they decided that one of these men should
be a Federalist, and they chose James A. Bayard of Delaware for the post.
For the other, Monroe thought of naming some Western man, to secure the
confidence of the Western country, and reconcile it to the result; but a
different turn was given to the measure by Gallatin, who asked the
appointment for himself. Gallatin’s exceptional fitness for the task
outweighed all objections. The President consented to appoint him; and
Monroe, who had from the first attached himself to Gallatin, acquiesced,
although he saw the consequences to the Cabinet and the Treasury.
A question less easy to decide was whether the new mission should be
despatched at once, or should wait until England should formally accept the
mediation. There again political motives dictated immediate action. If
England should accept, much time might be saved if the mission were on
the spot; if she did not accept, the peace-party in America would be more
effectually silenced. In either case, Russia would be deeply pledged to
support her own undertaking.
The President did not intend to lose Gallatin in the Treasury. Abundant
precedents warranted the double employment of government officers. In
1794 John Jay, then chief-justice, had been sent to negotiate with England,
and the Senate had approved the appointment. In 1799 Oliver Ellsworth,
also chief-justice, was sent to negotiate with France, and the Senate had
again approved. These were Federalist precedents, supposed to be binding,
at least on the Federalist party. If the chief-justice, the head of an
independent branch of government, could be sent abroad as an Envoy
Extraordinary in Executive employment, no objection could exist to
sending an Executive officer on a temporary service of the same kind,
unless on the score of expediency. To prevent difficulty on that account, the
Secretary of the Navy consented to act as head of the Treasury until
Gallatin’s return. Gallatin himself inclined to look on his separation from

30
the Treasury as final, but made his arrangements in agreement with the
President’s views, which looked to his return in the autumn.
Before he could depart he was obliged to complete the necessary
financial arrangements for the coming year, on which he was busily
engaged at the moment when Daschkoff’s letter arrived. First in importance
was the loan of sixteen million dollars. March 12, subscription books were
opened in all the principal towns, and the public was invited to take the
whole amount at seven per cent interest, to be reduced to six per cent at the
end of thirteen years. About four million dollars were offered on these
terms. Proposals in writing were then invited by a Treasury circular, dated
March 18, and after an active negotiation between Gallatin and three or four
capitalists of New York and Philadelphia,—John Jacob Astor, Stephen
Girard, David Parish,—the remainder of the loan was provided. In all about
eighteen millions were offered. Fifteen and a half millions were taken, in
the form of six per cent stock, issued at eighty-eight dollars for every
hundred-dollar certificate, redeemable after the year 1825. About half a
million was taken at par, with an annuity of 1½ per cent for thirteen years,
in addition to the six per cent interest.
Calculated as a perpetual annuity, as English borrowers would have
viewed it, the rate of this loan was less than seven per cent; but if the
nominal capital must or should be repaid after twelve years, the rate was
about 7.50 per cent. In the end, the government paid 7.487 per cent, for the
use of these sixteen millions for thirteen years. The terms were not
excessive when it was considered that New England in effect refused to
subscribe. Perhaps the loan could not have been taken at all, had not credit
and currency been already expanded to the danger-point, as the allotment
showed; for while New England, where most of the specie was held,
subscribed less than half a million, and Boston took but seventy-five
thousand, Pennsylvania, where banking had become a frenzy, took seven
million dollars. New York and Baltimore together contributed only half a
million more than was given by Philadelphia alone. Ten million dollars
were taken by Astor, Girard, and Parish,—three foreign-born Americans,
without whose aid the money could not have been obtained on these terms,
if at all. Doubtless they were bold operators; but Americans were supposed
to be not wanting in the taste for speculation, and the question could not but

rise how these men knew the secret of distributing the load which no native
American dared carry.
The bargain was completed April 7. At that moment the Treasury was
empty, and could not meet the drafts of the other departments; but with
sixteen millions in hand, five millions of Treasury notes, and an estimated
revenue of something more than nine millions, Gallatin collected about
thirty million dollars, and April 17 wrote to the Secretaries of War and
31
Navy, allotting to the one thirteen millions and a quarter, to the other four
and a half millions, which could not be exceeded without the consent of
Congress. This done, and every question having been settled that could be
foreseen,—the tax-bills ready to be laid before Congress, and even the draft
for a new bank-charter prepared,—Gallatin bade farewell to the Treasury,
and May 9 sailed from the Delaware River, with Bayard, for the Baltic.
Twelve years had passed since Gallatin took charge of the finances, and
his retirement was an event hardly less serious than a change of President;
for it implied that the political system he had done so much to create and
support stood so near the brink of disaster as to call him from the chosen
field of his duties into a new career, where, if anywhere, he could save it. As
Monroe felt called to the army, so Gallatin turned naturally to diplomacy.
He knew that after another year of war the finances must be thrown into
disorder like that of the Revolutionary War, beyond the reach of financial
skill; and he believed that if any one could smooth the path of negotiation,
that person was likely to serve best the needs of the Treasury. Yet he took
grave responsibility, of which he was fully aware, in quitting his peculiar
post at a moment so serious. Success alone could save him from universal
censure; and perhaps nothing in his career better proved the high character
he bore, and the extraordinary abilities he possessed, than the ease with
which he supported responsibility for this almost desperate venture.
The task he had set for himself was hopeless, not so much because of
the concessions he was to require, as on account of the change in European
affairs which made England indifferent for the moment to any injury the
United States could inflict. Monroe’s instructions to the new commission,
though long, consisted largely in arguments against the legality of
impressment as a part of the jus gentium; although the legality of European
war-measures had long ceased to be worth discussing. As the solution of the

dispute, Monroe could offer only the new Foreign Seamen Act, which
England had refused from the first to consider, and which was certainly
open to objections,—on the American side because it offered too much; on
the British side because it offered more than could in practice be performed.
To make the utmost possible concession, Monroe proposed that no native-
born British subject, thenceforward naturalized in America, should be
allowed to serve either in the national or the private vessels of the United
States,—a provision which carried one step further the offer to naturalize no
British seamen except on condition of leaving the sea, and which went to
the verge of conceding the right of impressment. Notwithstanding these
concessions, the instructions were still positive on the main point. Without a
clear and distinct stipulation against impressments, no treaty was to be
32
signed; negotiations must cease, and the negotiators must return home.

CHAPTER III.
During the winter the Republican legislature of New York chose Rufus
King, the chief Federalist in the country, to succeed John Smith as United
States senator. Some Republicans charged that this election was the price
paid by De Witt Clinton for Federalist votes in the Presidential contest; but
Clinton’s friends declared it to be the price paid by the Administration
Republicans for Federalist aid in granting a corrupt bank charter. That the
choice was due to a bargain of some kind no one denied, and possibly both
stories were true. Rufus King himself stood above suspicion, and had been
considered an opponent of the Federalist alliance with Clinton; but he was a
powerful recruit to the opposition in the Senate, which numbered
thenceforward nine votes, or precisely one fourth of the body. The
annoyance to the Administration was the greater because King’s Republican
colleague, Obadiah German, belonged to the Clintonian opposition, and
voted with the Federalists. At the same time Charles Cutts of New
Hampshire was succeeded by Jeremiah Mason, a very able and extreme
Federalist. Three more senators—Giles, Samuel Smith, and Michael Leib—
could be counted as personally hostile to the President. Jesse Franklin of
North Carolina was succeeded by David Stone, an independent, opposed to
the war. Already the opposition threatened to outweigh the votes on which
the President could depend. As though legislation had become a matter of
inferior importance, William H. Crawford of Georgia, the only vigorous
Republican leader in the Senate, resigned his seat, and followed Gallatin to
Europe. He was sent to take the place of Joel Barlow at Paris, and hurried to
his post. In this condition of party weakness, the election of Rufus King and
Jeremiah Mason to the Senate was a disaster to the Administration; and all
the more anxiously the President feared lest the popular election in May
should convert New York altogether into a Federalist State, and give
Massachusetts the necessary strength to stop the war.
This election, on which the fate of the war was believed to turn, took
place as usual, May 1, and began by a Federalist success in the city of New
York, followed by another in Kings, Queens, and Westchester counties.

These counties before the century ended had a voting population of near
half a million, but in 1813 they cast in State elections about eight thousand
votes, and gave a majority of eight hundred for the Federalist candidate
Stephen Van Rensselaer, the unfortunate general of the Niagara campaign.
Throughout the eastern and central counties the election was disputed; three
of the four districts into which the State was divided left the result so close
—within about three hundred votes—that only the western counties of
Cayuga, Seneca, and Genesee turned the scale. Governor Tompkins was re-
elected by the moderate majority of three thousand in a total vote of eighty-
three thousand; but the Federalists obtained a majority of ten in the
Assembly, and gained confidence with their strength. In this election, for
the first time, the issue was distinct between those who supported and those
who opposed the war. The chief towns, New York, Hudson, and Albany,
were strong in opposition; the country districts tended to support.
In Massachusetts the Federalist governor Caleb Strong, who had made
himself peculiarly obnoxious by refusing to call out the State’s quota of
militia, received nearly fifty-seven thousand votes, while Senator Varnum,
the Republican candidate, received forty-three thousand. Considering that
the population of Massachusetts was about one fourth smaller than that of
New York, the vote of one hundred thousand persons in the smaller State,
and only eighty-three thousand in the larger, seemed a proof of popular
indifference; but in truth the vote of New York was larger than usual, and
only one thousand less than at the next election of governor, in 1816. The
difference was due to the unequal suffrage, which in New York State
elections was restricted to one hundred pound free-holds, while in
Massachusetts all citizens worth sixty pounds were entitled to vote.
At the same time John Randolph met with defeat, for the only time in
his life. John W. Eppes, one of Jefferson’s sons-in-law, took residence
within Randolph’s district for the purpose of contesting it; and after a
struggle succeeded in winning the seat, on the war-issue, by a vote of
33
eleven hundred and twelve to nine hundred and forty-three. This change
of membership tended, like the New York election, to show that the people
were yielding to the necessity of supporting the war. Yet the process was
alarmingly slow. In the second year of hostilities, New Hampshire,
Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, and New Jersey were Federal in
all branches of their State governments; New York, Delaware, and

Maryland were partly Republican and partly Federalist; of the eighteen
States only ten were wholly Republican, and seven of these were Southern.
In the United States Senate the Administration could count upon twenty-
two votes, with reasonable certainty; the other fourteen senators were more
or less lukewarm or hostile. In the House, one hundred and fourteen
members supported the Administration, and sixty-eight opposed it. As far as
concerned numbers, the Administration was strong enough in Congress; but
the universal want of faith in its capacity to conduct a war of such
consequence gave the Federalists an advantage beyond proportion to their
numerical strength. The task of opposition was easy, and its force
irresistible when the ablest and oldest Republican in office—the Secretary
of the Treasury—felt himself helpless in face of the Government’s
inaptitude for war, and wrote to his closest intimates that no one could
“expect much improvement in the manner of making it more efficient. I
think that there exists real incapacity in that respect,—an incapacity which
34
must necessarily exhaust our resources within a very short time.”
Fortunately for the Government the same slowness of movement which
counteracted its undertakings, affected equally its internal enemies in their
hostility. The New England extremists wished and expected to act
energetically against the war. Chief-Justice Parsons quieted Pickering in the
autumn of 1812 by assuring him that the Massachusetts House of
35
Representatives would act at its winter session; yet the legislature met and
adjourned without action. The party waited for the spring election of 1813,
which was to give them control of New York. Their disappointment at the
re-election of Governor Tompkins was extreme, and the temptation to wait
until the national government should become bankrupt and disgraced
became irresistible. Another campaign was likely to answer their purpose.
While England grew stronger every day, America grew weaker; the struggle
became more and more unequal, the result more and more certain; and the
hope of peaceably restoring the Federalist party to power diminished the
temptation to adopt measures of force.
Thus when the Thirteenth Congress met for its extra session, May 24,
the Government felt stronger than on March 5, when the old Congress
expired. The elections were safely passed; the peace negotiations might be
considered as begun; taxation was no longer a matter of taste. The majority
liked taxation as little in 1813 as they had liked it in 1812 or in 1801; but

they could no longer dispute or even discuss it. Gallatin had gone, leaving
the bills for them to pass; and Congress, which at any other time would
have rebelled, had no choice but to pass them.
Once more Henry Clay was chosen Speaker, and setting Cheves aside
he placed John W. Eppes at the head of the Ways and Means Committee.
The House missed John Randolph, but gained John Forsyth of Georgia, and
Daniel Webster,—a new member from New Hampshire, of the same age as
Calhoun and Lowndes, but five years younger than Clay. Otherwise the
members varied little from the usual type, and showed more than their usual
faculty for discussing topics no longer worth discussion.
President Madison’s Message of May 25 challenged no angry
comment. Its allusion to the Russian mediation and the terms of peace had
an accent of self-excuse, as though he were anxious to convince England of
her true interests; its allusion to France contained the usual complaint of
delays “so unreasonably spun out;” and its reference to the war and the
finances was rather cheerful than cheering. Daring as Madison’s policy had
been, he commonly spoke in tones hardly to be called bold; and this
Message had the disadvantage, which under the circumstances could not be
called a fault, of addressing itself rather to Europe and to enemies, than to a
spirited and united nation. It had also the merit of directing Congress
strictly to necessary business; and Congress acted on the direction.
Nothing less than necessity could at that moment of early summer have
induced the members of Congress to remain in session at all. Stout as the
majority might be in support of the war, the stoutest were depressed and
despondent. They saw themselves disappointed in every hope and
calculation on which they had counted a year before. Even their unexpected
naval glory was lost for the moment by the victory of Broke’s frigate the
“Shannon” over the “Chesapeake,” June 1, as Congress began its work.
Disaster after disaster, disgrace upon disgrace, had come and were every
moment multiplying. Suffocated with heat, members were forced to sit day
by day in the half-finished Capitol, with a Southern village about them,
their nearest neighbor a British fleet. “Defeated and disgraced everywhere,”
said one of the stanchest war members describing the scene, “Congress was
to impose the burden of taxes on a divided people, who had been taught by
leaders of the war party to look upon a tax-gatherer as a thief, if not to shoot

36
him as a burglar.” According to the same authority, “the country was at
the lowest point of depression, where fear is too apt to introduce despair.”
In this condition of spirits, Gallatin’s tax-bills were reported to the House
June 10,—measures such as the Republican party had, till very lately, not
conceived as within the range of its possible legislation. They included a
direct tax of three million dollars; taxes on salt, licenses, spirits, carriages,
auctions, sugar refineries; a stamp tax, and a complete machinery for the
assessment and collection of these odious and oppressive imposts.
At the same moment, Daniel Webster began his career in Congress by
moving Resolutions which caused a long and unprofitable debate on the
conduct of France and the character of the French repealing Decree of April
28, 1811,—a debate that could have no other result or object than to mortify
and annoy the President, who had been, like so many other rulers, the
victim of Napoleon’s audacity. Pending this debate, June 13, the President
took to his bed with a remittent fever, and for five weeks his recovery was
doubtful. Madison was still confined to his bed, when, July 15, messengers
from the lower Potomac brought news that the British fleet, consisting of
eight or ten ships-of-the-line and frigates, was in the river, sixty miles
below, making its way up the difficult channel to Washington. A reasonable
and well-grounded fear took possession of the city. July 21, Serurier wrote
37
to his Government: —

“Every one is making ready to move. I know that they are secretly
packing up at the Departments. I have as yet sent nothing away, in
order not to show distrust of the Government’s power; but I have got
ready my most valuable papers, and from the moment the President
shall quit his residence, I shall follow where he goes, with my principal
portfolios in one of my carriages.”

The British ships were approaching the city; the sound of their guns
was believed to be heard; and the Government had little means of stopping
them. Every man prepared for volunteer duty; other work was suspended.
About three thousand militia and volunteers, among whom were all the
Cabinet and many members of Congress, were mustered, and marched to
Fort Washington, which was occupied by some six hundred regular troops,

with the Secretary of War at their head; while the Secretary of the Navy
took his post on the 28-gun frigate “Adams” in the river beneath, and the
Secretary of State rode down the river shore with a cavalry scouting party to
38
reconnoitre the British ships. July 15 and 16 the House of Representatives
ordered a Fast, and went into secret session to consider modes of defence.
Unfortunately the motion for inquiry was made by a Federalist. The
majority, determined to make no admissions, referred the subject to the
Military Committee, which reported the next day through its chairman,
Troup of Georgia, that the preparation was “in every respect adequate to the
emergence.” When a majority could benefit only its enemies by telling the
truth, history showed that honorable men often preferred to tell what was
untrue. In this case the British ships made their soundings, and obtained
whatever knowledge they sought; then left the river to visit other parts of
the Bay, but never were so far distant that they might not, with energy and a
fair wind, within four-and-twenty hours, have raided the defenceless
village. They had but to choose their own time and path. Not a defensible
fort or a picket-fence stood within ten miles of Washington, nor could a
sufficient garrison be summoned in time for defence. Armstrong, Jones, and
Monroe doubtless assured Congress that their means of defence were “in
every respect adequate,” but Congress took the responsibility on its own
shoulders when it accepted their assurance.
Perhaps of all the incompetence shown in the war this example most
exasperated patriotic citizens, because it was shared by every branch of the
government. For six months the Administration and its friends had
denounced Hull, Van Rensselaer, and Smyth for betraying the government,
while the Clintonians and peace Democrats had denounced the President for
imbecility; but in regard to the city of Washington the generals were not in
question, for no generals were there, while the President was dangerously ill
in bed. The Legislature and Cabinet were chiefly responsible for whatever
should happen,—the more because their warning was ample, even if under
such circumstances warning was needed. If Jefferson assumed as a matter
of course that William Hull was to be shot and Stephen Van Rensselaer
broken for their mistakes, Republicans might properly ask what punishment
should be reserved for Armstrong, Jones, and Monroe of the Cabinet, Troup
of Georgia, Sevier of Tennessee, Wright of Maryland, and other members of

the Military Committees of the House and Senate for their neglect of the
national capital.
The debate on Webster’s Resolutions, and the report made in
consequence by Monroe, July 12, tended to throw additional discredit on
the Government. In no respect did Madison’s Administration make an
appearance less creditable than in its attitude toward Napoleon’s Decrees,
again and again solemnly asserted by it to have been repealed, in the face of
proof that the assertion was unfounded. No Federalist rhetoric was
necessary to make this mortification felt. Madison seldom expressed
himself with more bitterness of temper than in regard to the Emperor’s
conduct, and with Monroe the subject drew forth recurrent outbursts of
anger and disgust. His report tacitly admitted everything that the Federalists
charged, except that the Administration had a secret engagement with
France: it had deceived itself, but it had not wilfully deceived the public.
While the House was busied with these unpleasant subjects, the Senate
took up the President’s recent nominations. May 29, four names were sent
to it for diplomatic appointments,—those of Albert Gallatin, J. Q. Adams,
and James A. Bayard, to negotiate treaties of peace and commerce with
Great Britain, and a treaty of commerce with Russia; that of Jonathan
Russell to be Minister Plenipotentiary to Sweden. Rufus King immediately
began opposition by moving three Resolutions of inquiry in regard to the
nature of the Russian appointments and the authority under which the
Treasury was to be administered in the Secretary’s absence. The President
replied, June 3, that the duties of the Secretary of the Treasury were
discharged by the Secretary of the Navy under the provisions of the Act of
1792. The Senate, by a vote of twenty to fourteen, referred the matter to a
committee consisting of Anderson of Tennessee, Rufus King, Brown of
Louisiana, and Bledsoe of Kentucky. Anderson, the chairman, wrote to the
President and went to see him on behalf of the committee, but received only
the answer that the President declined to discuss the matter with them in
their official character. The Senate then adopted a Resolution that the
functions of Secretary of the Treasury and Envoy Extraordinary were
incompatible. The Federalists obtained on this vote the support of Giles,
Leib, and Samuel Smith, German of New York, and Gilman of New
Hampshire, all of whom were disaffected Republicans; but even with this

aid they would have failed without the votes of Anderson, Bledsoe, and the
two Louisiana senators, who joined the malcontents.
Madison was then slowly recovering strength, and greatly harassed by
anxieties. He would not sacrifice Gallatin to the Senate; he hoped that
39
firmness would carry the point, and at worst he could throw upon senators
the charge of factious opposition. This he succeeded in doing. July 16 the
Senate committee, naturally expecting Madison to suggest some
arrangement, once more sought and obtained a conference,—“when the
40
President was pleased to observe,” said their report, “that he was sorry
that the Senate had not taken the same view of the subject which he had
done; and that he regretted that the measure had been taken under
circumstances which deprived him of the aid or advice of the Senate. After
the committee had remained a reasonable time for the President to make
any other observations if he thought proper to do so, and observing no
disposition manifested by him to enter into further remarks, the committee
retired without making any observations on the matter of the Resolutions,
or in reply to those made by the President.”
Finding itself thus defied, the Senate, without more discussion, rejected
Gallatin’s nomination by eighteen votes to seventeen, Anderson and the two
Louisiana senators still adhering to the hostile interest. Adams and Bayard
were then confirmed with little opposition.
After the passage of many years, the propriety of the decision may still
be left open to debate. As far as the Federalists were concerned, their votes
contradicted their own precedents; and if they conceded, as their precedents
required, that the question was not one of law but of expediency, they
assumed responsibility in acting as final judges. The incompatibility
asserted by them was a matter of dispute. Two successive chief-justices had
been sent as envoys abroad. No one could doubt that the Secretary of the
Treasury, or any other member of the Executive or Judicial departments,
might be appointed to negotiate a treaty in Washington. Temporary absence
from Washington had never implied incompatibility. Everyone knew that
the Secretary of War meant in person to conduct the war on the frontier. No
one could question the President’s right to appoint acting secretaries. If
convenience alone was the point at issue, surely the President knew best the
demands of his own Executive departments, and might be trusted with the

responsibility which belonged to him. That he should fail to see, as soon as
the Senate could discover, an incompatibility that would work only against
himself, need not be taken for granted by his own party, whatever might be
the case with the opposition.
On the other hand every one might admit that as the country grew,
Secretaries of the Treasury were likely to find work in their own
Department that would effectually limit their capacity for foreign travel;
and if the Senate thought that stage to be already reached, senators were
right in insisting upon the appointment of a new secretary in Gallatin’s
place. Unfortunately for their argument, their power did not extend so far.
Gallatin remained Secretary of the Treasury, and continued to negotiate as
such, without paying attention to the Senate or its theories.
The Senate further weakened its position in acting on the nomination of
Jonathan Russell as Minister to Sweden. The subject was referred, June 2,
to a committee consisting of Senator Goldsborough of Maryland, together
with Anderson and Rufus King. Jonathan Russell had made himself
obnoxious to the peace party by eagerness shown, while he was in charge at
London, to bring on the war. The committee not only entered on an
investigation of his doings at Paris, but also introduced a Resolution
declaring that any mission to Sweden at that time was inexpedient, and by
order of the Senate asked a conference with the President. Monroe, angry at
this conduct, declared privately that a faction in the Senate, counting on the
death not only of President Madison but of Vice-President Gerry, and the
election of Giles as President of the Senate, were scheming to usurp the
41
Executive power.
In order to counteract their manœuvre, and also to relieve the President,
who was then dangerously ill, Monroe took the ground that the Executive
would not confer with a co-ordinate branch of government except through
an agent, because his dignity would not allow him to meet a committee
except by a committee of his own. Monroe thus expressed this somewhat
unrepublican doctrine: “A committee of the Senate ought to confer with a
committee of the President through a head of a Department, and not with
the Chief Magistrate; for in the latter case a committee of that House is
42
equal to the President.” As a necessary conclusion, Monroe’s argument
seemed to the Senate not beyond dispute; but they answered it, three days

afterward, still less logically, by passing Goldsborough’s Resolution that it
was inexpedient at that time to send a Minister Plenipotentiary to Sweden.
Whatever might have been the case with Gallatin’s rejection, no one
could doubt that the vote on Russell’s appointment was factious. When
twenty-two senators, including Jeremiah Mason, Christopher Gore, Samuel
Dana, Rufus King, and William B. Giles, declared that a minister resident in
Sweden was inexpedient in the summer of 1813, they declared what every
other well-informed man knew to be an error. If any American envoy was
ever expedient, it was an envoy to Sweden in 1813; for in Sweden at that
moment all that was left of American commerce centred after being driven
from England, and the political interests of Sweden were greatly involved
with those of the United States. The error was the less to be denied,
because, only six months afterward, the Senate admitted itself in the wrong,
and approved the appointment of Russell.
These votes of the Senate made a deep impression. In time of peace and
safety the Senate might show factiousness without necessarily exciting
public anger, although at no time was the experiment quite safe; but at a
moment like July, 1813, when public opinion tended toward a serious
temper, factiousness was out of place, and was the more dangerous because
President Madison, though never showing great power as a popular leader,
had still a clear perception of the moment when to strike an enemy. He
rarely failed to destroy when he struck. The time had come when the
Republican party, with one voice, would be obliged to insist that party
discipline must be restored; and this result was precipitated by the Senate’s
conduct in regard to the diplomatic nominations.
An illustration of the dangers into which the spirit of faction at that
excited moment led the factious, was furnished by the legislature of
Massachusetts, which met, May 26, and after listening to a long speech
from Governor Strong arraigning the national government for its injustice
to England and partiality to France, referred the subject to committees
which lost no time in reporting. One of these reports, presented June 4 by
Josiah Quincy of the State Senate, closed with a Resolution that the Act
admitting Louisiana into the Union violated the Constitution, and that the
Massachusetts senators in Congress should use their utmost endeavors to
obtain its repeal. Another report, by a joint committee, contained a
remonstrance addressed to Congress against the war, couched in terms of

strong sectional hostility to the Southern States, and marked throughout by
a covert argument for disunion. A third report, also by Josiah Quincy, on a
naval victory lately won by Captain James Lawrence of the “Hornet,”
contained a phrase even longer remembered than Quincy’s assertion that the
Government could not be kicked into a war. The Government had in fact
been kicked into the war, but Quincy was not the better pleased. He
reported that in order not to give offence to many of the good people of the
Commonwealth by appearing to encourage the continuance of an unjust,
unnecessary, and iniquitous war, the Massachusetts senate while admiring
Lawrence’s virtues refrained from approving his acts,—

“And to the end that all misrepresentations on this subject may be
obviated,—
Resolved, as the sense of the Senate of Massachusetts, that in a war
like the present, waged without justifiable cause, and prosecuted in a
manner which indicates that conquest and ambition are its real motives,
it is not becoming a moral and religious people to express any
approbation of military or naval exploits which are not immediately
connected with the defence of our sea-coast and soil.”

Such tactics, whether in or out of Congress, were more dangerous to
their authors than any blunders of the Administration could ever be to the
party in power. If the nation should be successful in the war, it might
perhaps in good nature leave unpunished the conduct of its malcontents; but
if by their means the nation should be conquered or forced into a
humiliating peace, the people would never forget, and never forego
revenge. Mere opposition to foreign war rarely injured public men, except
while the war-fever lasted. Many distinguished statesmen of Europe and
America had been, at one time or another, in opposition to some special
war,—as was the case with Talleyrand, Charles James Fox, Lord Grey,
Jefferson, and Madison; but opposition became unpardonable when it took
a form which could have no apparent object except national ruin. The
Federalists who held the ideas expressed by the legislature of Massachusetts
could explain or defend their future course only by the conviction that the
inevitable and long-expected “crisis” was at hand, which must end either in
disunion or in reconstruction of the Union on new ground. As “a moral and

religious people,” they separated from the common stock, and
thenceforward, if the Union lasted, could expect no pardon.
The extravagance of the Massachusetts Federalists was
counterbalanced by the same national disasters which caused it. Nothing
showed that the war was popular in any of the sea-board States; but the
pressure of circumstances, little by little, obliged lukewarm and even hostile
communities to support it. Virginia and the Southern States were drawn into
relations toward the government which they had never intended to accept.
Pennsylvania, Kentucky, and Tennessee submitted to exactions that would
at any previous stage of their history have produced a revolution. Perhaps
the strongest proof of change in popular prejudices was furnished by the
taxes. Tax-bills which were supposed to have already overthrown one great
political party,—bills which inflicted the evils so hotly and persistently
denounced by Jefferson, Gallatin, and John Randolph in opposition, and
which had been long delayed by fear of their popular effect,—were passed
by Congress quickly, by decided votes, and with less debate than was given
to the discussion whether the President had or had not told all he knew
about Bassano’s Decree of April 28, 1811. From the time they were
approved by the President, in July and August, 1813, to the time of their
repeal, neither the President nor his party was troubled by popular
discontent on account of the passage of these Acts. They were accepted as a
necessary part of the national system, and of a war-policy.
The most curious symptom, and the one which most perplexed the
Federalists, was that this popular movement of concentration acted in direct
resistance to the movement of events. In every respect as the Federalists
looked back at the past twelve years their prophecies had come true. The
Republican party, they argued, had proved itself incompetent, and had
admitted the failure of its principles; it had been forced to abandon them in
practice, to replace the government where the Federalists had put it, and to
adopt all the Federalists’ methods; and even then the party failed. Equally
imbecile in peace and war, the democratic movement had ended in such
disgrace and helplessness as few governments had ever outlived, and such
as no nation with a near and powerful neighbor could have survived. In
1813 the evidence of downfall had become patent. The government was
ruined in credit and character; bankrupt, broken, and powerless, it continued
to exist merely because of habit, and must succumb to the first shock. All

this the Federalists had long foreseen. Fisher Ames in the press, scores of
clergymen in the pulpit, numberless politicians in Congress, had made no
other use of their leisure than to point out, step by step, every succeeding
stage in the coming decline. The catastrophe was no longer far away, it was
actually about them,—they touched and felt it at every moment of their
lives. Society held itself together merely because it knew not what else to
do.
Under circumstances following each other in necessity so stringent, no
Federalist could doubt that society would pursue the predicted course; but it
did not. Illogical and perverse, society persisted in extending itself in lines
which ran into chaos. The threatened “crisis” had arrived, wanting no
characteristic of those so long foretold; but society made no effort to save
itself. A vaster ruin and still more terrible retribution lay beyond. The
Federalists were greatly and naturally perplexed at discovering the silent
under-current which tended to grow in strength precisely as it encountered
most resistance from events. They tried to explain the phenomenon in their
own way,—the clergy according to religious conceptions, the politicians
according to their ideas of popular character. The political theory was the
more plausible and less respectable. A. C. Hanson, the extreme Maryland
Federalist, mobbed and nearly killed in Baltimore in June, 1812, only to be
elected to Congress in November, thought that the national movement of
1813 was due to military glory. Hanson wrote to Pickering on the subject, in
43
the autumn: —

“The war is becoming more popular every day in this State
[Maryland]. Our successes, and the weak manner in which it is
conducted by the enemy make it so.... It would seem that after a while,
unless the British can gather the sense and courage to strike some
severe blows, the war by its own generative powers will create the
means for its support. The vanity of a people cannot bear these brilliant
naval victories, and there is no passion to which the rulers of a people
can address themselves with greater effect. Even in my district the
active opposers of the war are falling off every day, and unless we
shortly meet with some reverses, the Administration will shortly find
more friends than enemies in this State by a great deal.... The
impression is becoming universal that the enemy cannot harm us if he

would. A few hard blows struck in the right place would be of great
service to the country.”

A people that could feel its vanity flattered by such glories as the war
gave in 1813 must have felt the want of flattery to an unusual degree. The
idea was extravagant. Not so much the glories as the disgraces of the war
roused public sympathy; not so much the love of victory as the ignominy of
defeat, and the grinding necessity of supporting government at any cost of
private judgment. At such a moment any success was keenly felt, and
covered every failure. The slow conviction that come what would the nation
must be preserved, brought one man after another into support of the war,
until the Federalists found their feet in a quicksand. The “crisis” produced
the opposite effect to that which Burke’s philosophy predicted.
Congress finished its work, and August 2 adjourned. Immediately
afterward the President went to Montpelier to recover his strength in the air
of the Blue Ridge. The session had not been unsatisfactory, for although the
Senate refused to impose an embargo, wanted by the President in order to
cut off illegitimate trade with England’s dependencies, and although the
same body put its negative on the appointments of Gallatin and Jonathan
Russell, yet Congress passed the tax-bills, authorized another loan of seven
and a half millions, and made the business of trading under a British license
a penal offence. The operations of war alone remained to burden the
President’s mind.

CHAPTER IV.
The fall of Detroit and Chicago in August, 1812, threw the American
frontier back to the line of the Wabash and the Maumee, and threatened to
throw it still farther back to the Indian boundary itself. The Miami or
Maumee River was defended by Fort Wayne; the Wabash had no other
defence than the little fort or blockhouse which Harrison built during the
Tippecanoe campaign, and named after himself. Fort Harrison stood near
the later city of Terre Haute, close to the border of Illinois; Fort Wayne
stood within twenty miles of the Ohio border. The width of Indiana lay
between the two.
Had Brock been able, after the capture of Detroit, to lead his little army
into Ohio, he might have cleared not only the Maumee River, but the whole
western end of Lake Erie from American possession. Recalled in haste to
defend Niagara, Brock left only two or three companies of troops as
garrison at Detroit and Malden. The Indians could do little without the aid
of regular forces, but they tried to carry both Fort Wayne and Fort Harrison
by stratagem. The attacks were made almost simultaneously a few days
after September 1, and not without skill. In the case of Fort Harrison the
Indians were nearly successful, not so much in fighting as in burning it.
With great difficulty its young captain, Zachary Taylor, of the Seventh
Infantry, succeeded in saving his post. Fort Wayne was held by Captain
James Rhea of the First Infantry until reinforcements arrived, September
12. Except the usual massacres of scattered families, the Indians
accomplished nothing.
Upon the State of Ohio, with its quarter of a million inhabitants, and of
Kentucky with four hundred thousand, fell the immediate burden of
defending the border between the Ohio and the Lakes. Governor William
Henry Harrison of the Indiana Territory leaving Vincennes June 19, the day
after the declaration of war, was at Cincinnati when threatening news began
to arrive from Detroit. Harrison had military knowledge and instincts. He
saw that after the capture of Mackinaw Detroit must fall, and that Hull

44
could save himself only by evacuating it. Harrison’s ambition, which had
drawn him to Tippecanoe, drew him also to lead the new crusade for the
relief or recovery of Detroit. He went to Kentucky at the invitation of
Governor Scott, and under the patronage of Scott and Henry Clay he took
the direction of military affairs. August 24 news reached Kentucky that Hull
45
was shut in Detroit, and must surrender unless immediately relieved. The
Governor of Kentucky at once summoned what was then called a caucus,
composed of himself, his successor elect Governor Shelby, Henry Clay,
Justice Todd of the United States Supreme Court, Major-General Hopkins
46
of the Kentucky militia, various Congressmen, judges, and other citizens,
whose whole authority was needed to warrant giving to Harrison, who was
not a citizen of Kentucky, the commission of major-general and the
command of the expedition to Detroit. By general acclamation, and on the
warm assurances of universal popular approval, the measure was taken; and
Harrison started at once for Cincinnati and Detroit to organize the
campaign. The news of Hull’s surrender met him as he left Frankfort.
By this combination of skill and accident, Harrison reached the object
of his ambition,—the conduct of war on a scale equal to his faith in his own
powers; but the torrent of Western enthusiasm swept him forward faster
than his secret judgment approved. Appointed by caucus the general of
volunteers, he could keep his position only by keeping his popularity.
Without deciding precisely where to march, or what military object to
pursue, he talked and acted on the idea that he should recover Detroit by a
47
coup-de-main. He knew that the idea was baseless as a practical plan, and
futile as a military measure; but nothing less would satisfy the enthusiasm
of his Kentucky volunteers, and the national government almost compelled
him to pretend what he did not at heart believe possible.
The confusion thus created was troublesome. First, Harrison insisted on
commanding the troops marching to relieve Fort Wayne, and obliged the
48
good-natured General Winchester, who outranked him, to yield the point.
Then after a forced march with the Kentuckians down the St. Mary’s River,
having relieved Fort Wayne, Harrison was obliged, September 19, to
surrender the command to Winchester, who arrived with orders from the
Secretary of War to take general charge of the northwestern army. Harrison
then left Fort Wayne for Piqua. Meanwhile the President and Eustis,

learning what had been done in Kentucky, September 17, after much debate
decided to give to Harrison the commission of brigadier-general, with the
command of the northwestern army, to consist of ten thousand men, with
49
unlimited means and no orders except to retake Detroit. Brigadier-General
Winchester, who was already at Fort Wayne, was given the option of
serving under Harrison, or of joining the army at Niagara.
These new orders reached Harrison September 25 at Piqua. Harrison
then resumed command, and two days afterward, September 27, wrote to
the secretary, announcing his plan for the autumn campaign. Three columns
of troops, from widely distant quarters, were to move to the Maumee
Rapids,—the right column, consisting of Virginia and Pennsylvania troops,
by way of the Sandusky River; the centre column, of twelve hundred Ohio
militia, by Hull’s road; the left column, consisting of four Kentucky
regiments and the Seventeenth U. S. Infantry, was to descend the Auglaize
River to Fort Defiance on the Maumee, and thence to fall down that river to
the point of junction with the two other columns.
Compared with Hull’s resources, Harrison’s were immense; and that he
had no serious enemy to fear was evident from his dividing the army into
three columns, which marched by lines far beyond supporting distance of
each other. At the same time he ordered Major-General Hopkins of the
Kentucky militia to march with two thousand men up the Wabash into the
Indian country, and to destroy the Indian settlements on the Wabash and
Illinois rivers. Had a British force been opposed to the Americans, its
general would have had little difficulty in destroying some one of these four
isolated columns, and driving Harrison back to central Ohio; but only bands
of Indians, not exceeding five hundred at most, were to be feared before the
army should cross the Maumee, and little anxiety existed on account of
enemies, unless for the safety of Fort Wayne.
Harrison’s anxieties bore a different character. September 23 he wrote
to the Secretary of War: “If the fall should be very dry, I will take Detroit
before the winter sets in; but if we should have much rain, it will be
necessary to wait at the rapids until the Miami of the Lakes is sufficiently
50
frozen to bear the army and its baggage.” The promise was rash. However
dry the season might be, the task of marching an army with siege-artillery
past Malden to Detroit, and of keeping it supplied from a base two hundred

miles distant, with the British commanding the Lake, was one which
Harrison had too much sense to attempt. Nothing but disaster could have
resulted from it, even if Detroit had been taken. In the actual condition of
that territory, no army could be maintained beyond the Maumee River
without controlling the Lake. Perhaps Harrison was fortunate that constant
rains throughout the month of October brought the army to a halt long
before it reached the Maumee. Only the left division of five Kentucky
regiments succeeded in getting to the river, and camped in the
neighborhood of old Fort Defiance, waiting for the other columns to reach
the rapids. There the Kentuckians remained, under the command of General
Winchester, without food, clothing, or sufficient shelter, in a state of
increasing discontent and threatening mutiny, till the year closed.
Within a month after assuming command Harrison found himself
helpless either to advance or to retreat, or to remain in any fixed position.
The supplies required for ten thousand troops could not be sent forward by
any means then known. October 22 the left column, consisting of the
Kentucky regiments and some regulars, was at Defiance on the Maumee;
the central column of a thousand Ohio troops under General Tupper was on
Hull’s road, a hundred miles from the Maumee, unable to march beyond
Urbana, where its supplies were collecting; the right column of
Pennsylvanians and Virginians was still farther from the front, slowly
approaching the Sandusky River from the southeast, but far out of reach.
General Hopkins’s expedition up the Wabash ended in failure, his troops
becoming a mere mob, and at last disbanding, leaving their general to
follow them home. Harrison himself was riding indefatigably through the
mud, from one end to the other of his vast concave line,—now at Defiance,
making speeches to pacify Winchester’s Kentuckians; then at Piqua and
Urbana with the Ohioans; soon a hundred miles away at the river Huron,
east of Sandusky; next at Wooster, Delaware, or Franklinton, afterward
Columbus, in the centre of Ohio, looking for his right wing; but always
searching for a passable ridge of dry land, on which his supplies could go
forward to the Maumee Rapids. The result of his search was given in a
letter of October 22, from Franklinton, to the Secretary of War:—

“I am not able to fix any period for the advance of the troops to
Detroit. It is pretty evident that it cannot be done upon proper

principles until the frost shall become so severe as to enable us to use
the rivers and the margin of the Lake for transportation of the baggage
and artillery upon the ice. To get them forward through a swampy
wilderness of near two hundred miles, in wagons or on packhorses
which are to carry their own provisions, is absolutely impossible.”

The obstacle which brought Harrison’s autumn campaign to this sudden
close was the vast swamp that extended from the Sandusky River on his
right to the Auglaize River on his left, and for the moment barred the
passage of his necessary supplies as effectually as though it had been the
Andes. Hull had crossed it, cutting a road as he went, and no one had then
appreciated his effort; but he had marched with a small force in May and
June. Harrison tried to transport supplies, heavy guns, military stores, and
all the material for an army of ten thousand men on a long campaign, as the
autumn rains set in. On the extreme right, with great effort and expense, a
considerable quantity of rations was accumulated on the Sandusky River, to
be sent to the Maumee Rapids whenever the frosts should harden the
swamps. On the extreme left, desperate efforts were made to carry supplies
to Winchester’s army at Defiance by way of the Auglaize and St. Mary’s
rivers. Hull’s road was impassable, and for that reason the column of Ohio
troops and their supplies were stopped in the neighborhood of Urbana.
Throughout the months of October and November Harrison’s army
stood still, scattered over the State of Ohio, while wagons and packhorses
wallowed in mud toward the Maumee Rapids. None arrived. Sometimes the
wagons were abandoned in the mud; sometimes the packhorses broke
down; sometimes the rivers were too low for boats; then they froze and
stopped water-transport. Universal confusion, want of oversight and
organization, added to physical difficulties, gave play to laziness,
incapacity, and dishonesty. No bills of lading were used; no accounts were
kept with the wagoners; and the teams were valued so high, on coming into
service, that the owners were willing to destroy them for the price to be
51
received. The waste of government funds was appalling, for nothing short
of a million rations at the Maumee Rapids could serve Harrison’s objects,
and after two months of effort not a ration had been carried within fifty
miles of the spot. In Winchester’s camp at Defiance the men were always
on half rations, except when they had none at all. During the greater part of

December they had no flour, but lived on poor beef and hickory roots.
Typhus swept them away by scores; their numbers were reduced to about
one thousand. The exact force which Harrison had in the field was matter of
conjecture, for he sent no return of any description to the adjutant-general’s
52 53
office. The Government gave him carte blanche, and he used it. Chaos
and misconduct reigned in every department, while he, floundering through
the mud along his line of two hundred miles front, sought in vain for a road.
For the train of errors and disasters in the northwest Secretary Eustis
was chiefly responsible, and his resignation, Dec. 3, 1812, left the campaign
in this hopeless condition. From Dec. 3, 1812, until Jan. 13, 1813, Monroe
acted as Secretary of War; and to him Harrison next wrote from Delaware,
December 12, a letter which not only disheartened the Government, but was
calculated to create a prejudice against the writer in the mind of any
54
Secretary of War who was not invincibly prejudiced in his favor.

“If there were not some important political reason,” said Harrison,
“urging the recovery of the Michigan Territory and the capture of
Malden as soon as those objects can possibly be effected, and that to
accomplish them a few weeks sooner expense was to be disregarded, I
should not hesitate to say that if a small proportion of the sums which
will be expended in the quartermaster’s department in the active
prosecution of the campaign during the winter was devoted to
obtaining the command of Lake Erie, the wishes of the Government, in
their utmost extent, could be accomplished without difficulty in the
months of April and May. Malden, Detroit, and Mackinaw would fall
in rapid succession. On the contrary, all that I can certainly promise to
accomplish during the winter, unless the strait should afford us a
passage on the ice, is to recover Detroit. I must further observe that no
military man would think of retaining Detroit, Malden being in
possession of the enemy, unless his army was at least twice as strong as
the disposable force of the enemy. An army advancing to Detroit along
a line of operation passing so near the principal force of the enemy as
to allow them access to it whenever they think proper, must be covered
by another army more considerable than the disposable force of the
enemy. I mention this circumstance to show that the attack ought not to
be directed against Detroit, but against Malden; and that it depends

upon the ice affording a safe passage across the strait, whether I shall
be able to proceed in this way or not. Detroit is not tenable. Were I to
take it without having it in my power to occupy the opposite shore, I
should be under the necessity of hiding the army in the adjacent swamp
to preserve it from the effects of the shot and shells which the enemy
would throw with impunity from the opposite shore. This result is so
obvious to every man who has the least military information, that it
appears to me as extraordinary as any other part of General Hull’s
conduct that he should choose to defend Detroit rather than attack
Malden.”

Hull could have asked no better apology for his surrender. Harrison did
not know that the insubordination and refusal of the Ohio colonels to
evacuate Detroit had forced Hull to remain there; but that Detroit was not
tenable came at last to the surface as a self-evident truth of the campaign,—
which Hull had always seen, and which Harrison himself announced almost
as clearly in August as in December, but which he ignored in the interval.

“If it should be asked,” he continued, “why these statements were
not made sooner,—I answer that although I was always sensible that
there were great difficulties to be encountered in the accomplishment
of the wishes of the President in relation to the recovery of Detroit and
the conquest of the adjacent part of Upper Canada in the manner
proposed, I did not make sufficient allowance for the imbecility and
inexperience of the public agents and the villany of the contractors. I
am still, however, very far from believing that the original plan is
impracticable. I believe on the contrary that it can be effected.”

The excuse did not satisfy the Cabinet, who thought they saw that
Harrison wished to throw upon Government the responsibility for a military
failure fatal to himself. Perhaps a simpler motive guided Harrison, who
from the first never had known precisely what to do, or had seen any clear
path to success. He wrote, January 4, from Franklinton,—

“When I was directed to take the command in the latter end of
September, I thought it possible by great exertions to effect the objects

of the campaign before the setting in of winter.... The experience of a
few days was sufficient to convince me that the supplies of provisions
could not be procured for our autumnal advance; and even if this
difficulty was removed, another of equal magnitude existed in the want
of artillery. There remained then no alternative but to prepare for a
winter campaign.”

According to this account he had seen early in October that advance
was impossible, yet he wasted millions of money and many of his best
troops in attempting it. Winter had come, and he was pledged to a winter
campaign as impracticable as the autumn campaign had proved to be.
Without the control of the Lake, any army beyond the Maumee must starve
or surrender. The government had already paid a vast price in money and
men in order to obtain this knowledge; yet Harrison proposed a winter
campaign, with full persuasion of its uselessness.
55
December 20 he sent orders to Winchester to descend the Maumee
River from Defiance to the rapids, there to prepare sleds for an expedition
against Malden, to be made by a choice detachment when the whole army
should concentrate at the rapids. Early in January, the ground being at last
frozen, provisions in large quantities were hurried to the Maumee River.
Artillery was sent forward. The Pennsylvania and Virginia brigades moved
to the Sandusky River, making an effective force of fifteen hundred men at
that point. The whole effective force on the frontier amounted to six
56
thousand three hundred infantry. Harrison intended to move his
headquarters forward from the Sandusky, and to reach the Maumee Rapids
January 20, to which point he supposed General Winchester already in
57
motion from Defiance.
This was the situation January 12; and although Harrison hinted in his
58
reports of January 4 and 8 that his winter campaign would probably fail,
he showed the intention of advancing at least as far as the strait opposite
Malden, about thirty-five miles beyond the Maumee. This he might venture
without much danger; and if he reached that point, supposing the straits to
be frozen, the enemy to show little sign of resistance, and the weather to
favor, he might attack Malden. Hull had been expected to take Malden with
twelve or fourteen hundred men, with an open river behind him, a British

fleet on his flank, fifty miles of road to cover, and supplies for only a few
days at Detroit; but Harrison with six thousand men, the river frozen and
the British fleet frozen in it, a secure base, with a million rations close in his
rear, and no Isaac Brock in his front, still spoke with extreme doubt of his
prospects, and said that “most of the well-informed men who knew the
59
character of the country” expected a suspension of operations for the
winter.
Aware that from a military point of view no land-campaign could,
except by accident, effect any result proportionate to its cost, Harrison had
placed himself at the head of a popular movement so strong that he would
have met the fate of Hull and Alexander Smyth, had he not made at least a
demonstration against an enemy whose face he had not yet seen. Forced by
his own pledges and the public discontent to enter on an unmilitary
campaign, he was anxious to risk as little as possible where he could hardly
expect to gain anything; and he would probably have contented himself
with his first scheme of a coup-de-main against Malden or Detroit, without
attempting to hold either place, had not his subordinate, General
Winchester, rescued him from an awkward position by a blunder that
relieved Harrison of further responsibility.
Brigadier-General Winchester was a planter of Tennessee, sixty-one
years old, and formerly an officer in the Revolutionary War. Though
outranking Harrison, he had allowed himself to be set aside by what he
60
thought intrigue, and consented to conduct the left wing of the force under
Harrison’s command. Winchester was not a favorite with his Kentucky
militia-men, who had no choice in electing him to their command. Their
term of service was to expire in February; they had been imprisoned since
September in a wilderness at Defiance,—hungry, cold, sick, and mutinous,
able to find no enemy willing to fight them, and disgusted with idleness. No
sooner was the ground frozen and the general movement of concentration
possible, than Winchester’s command by common consent, under
Harrison’s orders, broke up their camp near Defiance and marched to the
rapids, where Hull’s road crossed the Maumee. There they arrived January
10, as Harrison expected. They fortified themselves on the north bank, and
waited for the arrival of Harrison, who intended to join them January 20.

Winchester’s force included three regiments of Kentucky militia,
61
numbering nine hundred effectives, and the Seventeenth United States
Infantry, numbering three hundred men, also Kentuckians. Altogether he
62
had under his command at the rapids about thirteen hundred men, —a
force barely sufficient to hold the exposed position it had taken on the north
bank of the river. The three Kentucky militia regiments were soon to go
home. The other columns were not yet within supporting distance. If
Colonel Proctor, who commanded at Malden, were capable of imitating
Brock’s enterprise, he would hardly throw away an opportunity, which
might never recur, to strike a blow at the Kentuckians, and by defeating
them to drive Harrison’s army behind the Sandusky River. Every military
motive warned Winchester not to divide, detach, or expose his troops
without caution. He was himself a detachment, and he had no support
nearer than the Sandusky.
While the troops were busily engaged in building a store-house and
63
throwing up log-works in an injudicious and untenable position, two
Frenchmen came into camp, begging protection for the inhabitants of
Frenchtown on the river Raisin, thirty miles in front, and within the British
lines. Thirty-three families, or about one hundred and fifty persons, were
resident at Frenchtown, and the place was held by a few Canadian militia,
supposed to consist of two companies, with about as many Indians,—in all,
64
some three hundred men. This force might easily be destroyed, and the
loss to the British would be serious. Winchester’s troops became eager to
dash at them. A council of war decided, January 16, without a voice in
remonstrance, that the movement should be made. The most ardent
supporter of the adventure was Col. John Allen of the Kentucky Rifle
regiment; but no one offered opposition, and Winchester agreed to the
65
council’s opinion.
The next morning, Jan. 17, 1813, Col. William Lewis, of the Fifth
Kentucky militia, started for the river Raisin, with four hundred and fifty
66
men. A few hours afterward he was followed by Colonel Allen with one
hundred and ten men. No reports told what regiments were taken, or where
they were at any moment stationed; but Lewis and Allen probably led
twelve companies, drawn from four Kentucky regiments,—the Seventeenth

United States Infantry, recruited in Kentucky, commanded by Col. Samuel
Wells; the Kentucky Rifles, Col. John Allen; the First Kentucky Infantry;
and Colonel Lewis’s regiment, the Fifth Kentucky Infantry,—in all, six
hundred and sixty men, representing the flower of Kentucky.
They marched on the ice, along the shore of Maumee Bay and Lake
Erie, until nightfall, when they camped, and at two o’clock the next
afternoon, January 18, reached without meeting resistance the houses on the
south bank of the river Raisin. The north bank was occupied, according to
67
British authority, by fifty Canadian militia and two hundred Indians. The
British force opened fire with a three-pound howitzer. The action began at
three o’clock and lasted till dark, when the enemy after an obstinate
resistance was driven about two miles into the woods with inconsiderable
68
loss. The action was sharp, and cost the Americans not less than twelve
killed and fifty-five wounded, reducing their effective number to six
hundred.
Colonel Lewis had orders to take possession of Frenchtown, and hold
it. He reported his success to General Winchester at the rapids, and
remained at Frenchtown waiting further orders. Winchester became then
aware that the situation was hazardous. Six hundred men were with him in a
half-fortified camp on the north bank of the Maumee; six hundred more
were thirty miles in advance, at the Raisin River; while fully two thousand
69
—or, according to Harrison’s estimate, four thousand —enemies held two
fortresses only eighteen miles beyond the Raisin. The Kentuckians at the
Maumee, equally aware of their comrades’ peril, insisted on going to their
aid. Winchester promptly started on the evening of January 19, and arrived
at Frenchtown the next morning. Colonel Wells’s Seventeenth United States
Infantry, two hundred and fifty men, followed, arriving at Frenchtown in
70
the evening.
Winchester, before leaving the Maumee Rapids, sent a despatch to
Harrison with a report of the battle of the 18th, which met Harrison on the
road hurrying to the Maumee Rapids. The next morning, January 20,
Harrison arrived at the camp on the Maumee, and found there about three
71
hundred Kentucky troops, the remainder being all with Winchester at the
river Raisin. Probably Harrison, whose own caution was great, felt the peril

72
of Winchester’s situation, but he sent his inspector-general, Captain Hart,
forward with orders to Winchester “to hold the ground we had got at any
73
rate,” while he wrote to the Secretary of War:—

“Upon my way to this place [Maumee Rapids] last evening, I
received the letter from the General [Winchester] of which the enclosed
is a copy, informing me of the complete success of the enterprise in the
defeat of the enemy and taking the stores they had collected. The
detachment under Colonel Lewis remain at the river Raisin, and
General Winchester very properly marched yesterday with two hundred
and fifty men to reinforce him and take the command.... It is absolutely
necessary to maintain the position at the river Raisin, and I am
74
assembling the troops as fast as possible for the purpose.”

Harrison added that his only fear was lest Winchester should be
overpowered. He waited at the Maumee Rapids two days, until at noon,
January 22, a messenger arrived with disastrous tidings from the front.
Winchester afterward told the story of his own proceedings with so
much candor that his narrative became a necessary part of any explanation
of his disaster:—

“Suspecting that Proctor would make an attempt to avenge this
stroke, and knowing that our wounded men could not be removed, I
hastened to reinforce Colonel Lewis with Wells’s regiment, two
hundred and fifty men; and set out myself to join him, and arrived on
the morning of the 20th. The town, lying on the north side of the river,
was picketed on three sides, the longest facing the north, and making
the front. Within these pickets Colonel Lewis’s corps was found. Not
thinking the position eligible, nor the pickets a sufficient defence
against artillery, I would have retreated but for the wounded, of whom
there were fifty-five; but having no sufficient means for transporting
these, and being equally destitute of those necessary for fortifying
strongly, I issued an order for putting the place in the best condition for
defence that might be practicable, intending to construct some new
works as soon as the means for getting out timber might be had. On the

evening of the 20th Wells arrived, and was directed to encamp on the
right, in an open field, immediately without the picketing. On the 21st a
patrol as far as Brownstown [opposite Malden] was sent out, and
returned without seeing anything of an enemy. On the same day a man
from Malden came in who reported that the enemy were preparing to
attack us; but knowing nothing of the kind or extent of the preparation
made or making, what he brought was thought to be only conjecture
and such as led to a belief that it would be some days before Proctor
would be ready to do anything.... Neither night-patrol nor night-pickets
were ordered by me, from a belief that both were matters of routine and
in constant use.... Not to discommode the wounded men, ... I took
quarters for myself and suite in a house on the southern bank, directly
fronting the troops and only separated from them by the river, then
firmly frozen, and but between eighty and a hundred yards wide.”

The only educated officer under Harrison’s command was Major E. D.
Wood of the Engineers, one of the early graduates of West Point, and an
officer of high promise. He was not with Winchester’s division, but with the
right wing on the Sandusky, and arrived at the Maumee Rapids some ten
days afterward, where he built Fort Meigs, in February. During the
campaign he kept a diary, and his criticisms of Winchester, Lewis, Allen,
75
and their command were quoted with approval by the Kentucky historian,
76
as well as by Harrison’s biographer: —

“The troops were permitted to select, each for himself, such
quarters on the west side of the river as might please him best, whilst
the general ... took his quarters on the east side,—not the least regard
being paid to defence, order, regularity, or system, in the posting of the
different corps.... With only one third or one fourth of the force
destined for that service; destitute of artillery, of engineers, of men who
had ever seen or heard the least of an enemy; and with but a very
inadequate supply of ammunition,—how he ever could have
entertained the most distant hope of success, or what right he had to
presume to claim it, is to me one of the strangest things in the world....
Winchester was destitute of every means of supporting his corps long
at the river Raisin; was in the very jaws of the enemy, and beyond the

reach of succor. He who fights with such flimsy pretensions to victory
will always be beaten, and eternally ought to be.”

Defeat under such conditions was disgraceful enough; but defeat by
Colonel Proctor was one of the worst misfortunes that happened to an
American general. The Prince Regent took occasion, at the close of the war,
to express his official opinion of this officer, then Major-General Proctor, in
77
language of unusual severity. Yet Proctor’s first movements at the Raisin
River showed no apparent sign of his being “so extremely wanting in
professional knowledge, and deficient in those active, energetic qualities
which must be required of every officer,” as his later career, in the Prince
Regent’s opinion, proved him to be. He had opposed Brock’s bold
movement on Detroit; but he did not hesitate to make a somewhat similar
movement himself. January 21 he marched with artillery across the river on
the ice, to Brownstown opposite Malden, in full view of any American
patrol in the neighborhood. His force consisted of six hundred whites, all
78
told, besides either four hundred and fifty, six hundred or eight hundred
Indians, under the chief Round Head, Tecumthe being absent collecting
79
reinforcements on the Wabash. This large body of more than a thousand
men, without an attempt at concealment, crossed to Brownstown and
marched twelve miles, January 21, camping at night within five miles of
80
Frenchtown. If the British historian James was correct, they numbered
eleven hundred and eighty men, of whom five hundred and thirty were
81
white, and the rest Indians; but the official return reported the whites,
including every person present, at five hundred and ninety-seven men. Two
hours before dawn, January 22, they again advanced, and before daybreak
approached within musket-shot of the picket-fence, and half-formed their
line, before an alarm was given.
Had Proctor dashed at once on the defenceless Seventeenth regiment
and the fence that covered the militia, he would probably have captured the
whole without loss; but he preferred to depend on his three-pound guns,
which gave the Kentuckians opportunity to use their rifles. In such fighting
the Americans had much the advantage, especially as British regulars were
opposite them. Within an hour the Forty-first regiment lost fifteen killed
and ninety-eight wounded, and of the entire body of six hundred British

troops not less than twenty-four were killed and one hundred and sixty-one
82
wounded. Their three-pound guns were abandoned, so murderous were
83
the Kentucky rifles. Had all the American troops been under cover, the
battle would have been theirs; but Wells’s Seventeenth regiment was a
hundred yards away, on open ground outside the picket-fence on the right,
where it was flanked by the Canadian militia and Indians and driven back
toward the river, until Allen’s Rifle regiment went out to help it. Gradually
forced toward the rear, across the river, this part of the line was at last
struck with a panic and fled, carrying with it Winchester himself, Colonel
Allen, and Colonel Lewis; while six hundred Indians were in hot pursuit, or
already in advance of them.
In the deep snow escape was impossible. Nearly a hundred
Kentuckians fell almost side by side, and were scalped. Among these was
Colonel Allen. General Winchester and Colonel Lewis were so fortunate as
to fall into the hands of the chief Round Head, who first stripped them and
then took them to Proctor, who had for the time withdrawn his forces and
ceased firing. By Proctor’s advice, General Winchester sent an order to the
men within the picket-fence to surrender.
By eight o’clock all resistance had ceased except from three hundred
and eighty-four Kentuckians who remained within the picket-fence, under
the command of Major Madison of the Rifle regiment. Surrounded by a
thousand enemies, they had no chance of escape. Their ammunition was
nearly exhausted; retreat was impossible; they could choose only between
84
surrender and massacre, and they surrendered. The British officers looked
at them with curiosity, as they came within the British line.

85
“Their appearance,” said Major Richardson, “was miserable to
the last degree. They had the air of men to whom cleanliness was a
virtue unknown, and their squalid bodies were covered by habiliments
that had evidently undergone every change of season, and were arrived
at the last stage of repair.... It was the depth of winter; but scarcely an
individual was in possession of a great coat or cloak, and few of them
wore garments of wool of any description. They still retained their
summer dress, consisting of cotton stuff of various colors shaped into
frocks, and descending to the knee. Their trowsers were of the same

material. They were covered with slouched hats, worn bare by constant
use, beneath which their long hair fell matted and uncombed over their
cheeks; and these, together with the dirty blankets wrapped round their
loins to protect them against the inclemency of the season, and fastened
by broad leathern belts, into which were thrust axes and knives of an
enormous length, gave them an air of wildness and savageness which
in Italy would have caused them to pass for brigands of the Apennines.
The only distinction between the garb of the officer and that of the
soldier was that the one, in addition to his sword, carried a short rifle
instead of a long one, while a dagger, often curiously worked and of
some value, supplied the place of the knife.”

This description gave a lifelike idea of what Harrison justly thought the
best material in the world for soldiery, had it been properly handled. Men
who for four months had suffered every hardship, and were still unclothed,
unfed, uncared for, and sacrificed to military incompetence, but hardened to
cold, fatigue, and danger, had no reason to be ashamed of their misfortunes
or of their squalor. Fortunately about five hundred were saved as prisoners,
and thirty or forty escaped to the rapids; the rest, four hundred in number,
were killed in battle, or massacred afterward.
Had Proctor acted with energy, he might have advanced to the rapids,
and there have captured Harrison with his remaining force of nine hundred
men, his artillery train and stores. Even with the utmost celerity Harrison
could hardly have escaped, if an active pursuit had been made by Indians
through the swamp which he had with extreme difficulty crossed two days
86 87
before, and in the heavy rain which followed the battle; but Proctor had
no wish for fighting. So far from thinking of attack, he thought only of
escaping it, and hurried back to Malden at noon the same day, leaving the
wounded prisoners behind without a guard. Nothing excused such conduct,
for Proctor knew the fate to which he was exposing his prisoners. That night
the Indians, drunk with whiskey and mad with their grievances and losses,
returned to Frenchtown and massacred the wounded. About thirty perished,
some apparently burned. Fortunately for the United States the glamour of
Proctor’s victory hid his true character, and he was made a major-general,—
the most favorable event of the war for the American armies he was to
meet, and one which cost Great Britain even more in pride than in power.

CHAPTER V.
If Proctor was afraid of Harrison, with more military reason Harrison
was afraid of Proctor; and while the British colonel, deserting his wounded
prisoners, hurried from the field of battle, and felt himself in danger until
the next day he was again entrenched at Malden, at the same moment
Harrison, burning the post at the Maumee Rapids and destroying such
stores as were collected there, hastened back to the Portage or Carrying
River some fifteen miles in the rear. Within thirty-six hours after the battle,
the two enemies were sixty miles apart. At the Portage River Harrison
remained a week, until he had collected a force of two thousand men. With
these he returned to the rapids February 1, and began to construct a
regularly fortified camp on the south bank of the river. Fort Meigs, as it was
called, did credit to the skill of Major Wood, the engineer officer who
constructed it; but such a fortress seemed rather intended for defence than
for the conquest of Canada.
In fact, Harrison had succeeded only in making the most considerable
failure that had thus far marked the progress of the war; but while the public
was still assuming treason and cowardice in William Hull, who had been
sent with fifteen hundred men to hold Detroit and conquer Canada, and had
been left unsupported to face destruction,—the same public admitted the
excuses of Harrison, who with ten thousand men, unlimited means, and
active support at Niagara, after four months of effort, failed even to pass the
Maumee River except with a detachment so badly managed that only thirty-
three men in a thousand escaped. This was the crowning misfortune which
wrung from Gallatin the complaint that a “real incapacity” for war existed
in the government itself, and must inevitably exhaust its resources without
good result; but although it drove Gallatin to Europe, it left Harrison on the
Maumee. Harrison would not take on himself the disgrace of admitting his
inability to recapture Detroit, and the President would not, without his
express admission, order him to desist. As Armstrong afterward
88
explained: “The Cabinet, not inexpert at deciphering military diplomacy,
and peculiarly shy of incurring any responsibility it could avoid,

determined, with perhaps less of patriotism than of prudence, to leave the
question of continuing the winter campaign exclusively with the General.”
The General, not inclined to sink into obscurity or to admit failure, set
himself to a third campaign as hopeless as either of its predecessors.
Ordering all the troops in his rear to join him, making a body of four
thousand men, he fixed February 11 as the day for his advance on Malden,
89
not expecting to reduce that place, but merely to raid it. When the day
arrived, the roads had again become impassable, the ice was no longer safe;
90
and Harrison, “with much reluctance and mortification,” was reduced to
write from the Maumee Rapids to the Secretary of War that the campaign
must cease.
Thus the Western movement, likened by Henry Clay to a tenth-century
crusade, ended in failure. The Government would have been in a better
position had it never sent a man to the Maumee, but merely built a few
sloops at Cleveland. The entire result of six months’ immense effort was
confined to raids into the Indian country; and even these were costly
beyond proportion to their results. When the militia of Kentucky and Ohio,
which had been mustered in August for six months’ service, returned to
their homes in February, 1813, not only had they failed to reoccupy a foot
of the ground abandoned by Hull, but they left Harrison almost alone at
Fort Meigs, trembling lest the enemy should descend on his rear and
91
destroy his supplies, or force him back to protect them. He had
accumulated artillery, ammunition, and stores at the Maumee Rapids, in a
fortress which itself required a garrison of two thousand men and from
92
which he could neither fall back, as he thought the wiser course, nor
remain with safety exposed to an active enemy. He called for more militia
from Kentucky and Ohio, but the people no longer felt enthusiasm for war.

93
“I am sorry to mention,” reported Harrison, March 17, “the
dismay and disinclination to the service which appear to prevail in the
Western country; numbers must give that confidence which ought to be
produced by conscious valor and intrepidity, which never existed in
any army in a superior degree than amongst the greater part of the
militia who were with me through the winter. The new drafts from this

State [Ohio] are entirely of another character, and are not to be
depended on.”

In short, Harrison, who had in 1812 commanded ten thousand militia,
seemed to think double the number necessary for 1813, besides regular
troops and a fleet.
President Madison and two successive Secretaries of War had allowed
themselves, for fear of displeasing Kentucky, to give Harrison carte
94
blanche, which Harrison had used without other limit than that of the
entire resources of the West. The time at last came when such management
must be stopped, and Secretary Armstrong, naturally impatient under the
load of Eustis’s and Monroe’s failures, quickly decided to stop it. Harrison’s
letter of February 11, announcing his failure, reached the Department
March 1. March 5 the secretary wrote to Harrison ordering him to maintain
a threatening attitude, but altering the mode of warfare. Henceforward the
army was to be made subordinate,—the navy was to take the lead; and until
the middle of May, when the fleet on Lake Erie should be constructed,
Harrison was to maintain a strict defensive, and to protect the line of the
Maumee with six regular regiments, only three of which had been yet partly
raised.
Meanwhile, Harrison had but a few hundred regulars and some
Pennsylvania and Virginia militia,—perhaps five hundred men in all,—to
hold Fort Meigs, and mere squads of militia to guard eight other posts
which had cost the government some millions of dollars. These five
hundred troops, whose service was mostly near its end, he left at Fort
Meigs, and in the middle of March he set out for Chillicothe and Cincinnati.
Greatly annoyed at the summary manner in which Armstrong had put an
end to his campaigning, he protested only against the inadequacy of his
force for the defence required of it, and insisted on a temporary
reinforcement of militia to garrison the fortress that had cost him so much
effort to construct at the Maumee Rapids.
Then the value of General Proctor to his enemy became immense.
Between January 22, when he attacked Winchester, and the end of April,
when he moved on Fort Meigs, Proctor molested in no way the weak and
isolated American garrisons. With hundreds of scouts and backwoodsmen at

his command, he had not the energy or the knowledge to profit by his
opponents’ exposed and defenceless condition. He allowed Major Wood to
make Fort Meigs capable of standing a siege; he let Harrison, unmolested,
pass a month away from his command; he looked on while the Virginia
militia marched home, leaving only a handful of sickly men, under a major
of artillery, to defend the unfinished fort; he made no attempt to waylay
Harrison, who returned with reinforcements by way of the Auglaize River;
and not until Harrison had enjoyed all the time necessary to prepare for
attack, did Proctor disturb him.
Harrison, expecting an assault, hurried back from Cincinnati to Fort
Meigs with some three hundred men, leaving a brigade of Kentucky militia
to follow him. April 12 he reached the fort, but not till April 28 did Proctor
appear at the mouth of the Maumee, with about five hundred regulars and
nearly as many militia,—nine hundred and eighty-three whites, all told, and
95
twelve hundred Indians under Tecumthe and other chiefs. Besides this
large force, he brought two twenty-four pound guns with other artillery
from Detroit, and two gunboats supported the land-battery. While the guns
were placed in position on the north bank of the river, the Indians crossed
and surrounded the fort on the south. May 1 the batteries opened, and
during four days kept up a heavy fire. Proctor, like Harrison, moved in the
wilderness as though he were conducting a campaign on the Rhine; he liked
regular modes of warfare, and with a force almost wholly irregular, after
allowing Fort Meigs to be built, he besieged it as though he could take it by
battering its earthen ramparts. Untaught by his losses at the river Raisin, he
gave once more advantage to the Kentucky rifle; and with every
opportunity of destroying the reinforcement which he knew to be near, he
allowed himself to be surprised by it.
The Kentucky brigade of twelve hundred men, under Brigadier-General
Green Clay, had descended the Auglaize River in boats, and arrived at
Defiance May 3, where they learned that Fort Meigs was invested. So
neglectful of his advantages was Proctor that he not only failed to prevent
General Clay from advancing, but failed to prevent communication between
the besieged fort and the relief-column, so that Harrison was able to arrange
a general attack on the investing lines, and came near driving the British
force back to Malden with the loss of all its artillery and baggage. At about
nine o’clock on the morning of May 5, Clay’s brigade descended the rapids,

96
and eight hundred and sixty-six men under Colonel William Dudley,
landing on the north side of the river, surprised and took possession of the
British batteries, which were entirely unsupported. Had Clay’s whole force
been on the ground, and had it been vigorously pushed forward, the small
British division which held the north bank must have abandoned all its
positions; but Dudley’s men were under no discipline, and though ready to
advance were in no hurry to retreat, even when ordered. Three companies of
the British Forty-first, and some of the Canadian militia soon gathered
together; and although these could hardly have been half the number of
97
Dudley’s force, yet with Tecumthe and a body of Indians they attacked the
batteries, drove the Kentuckians out, dispersed them, and either captured or
massacred the whole body, under the eyes of Harrison and Fort Meigs.
This affair, though little less fatal to the Americans than that of the river
Raisin, was much less dearly bought by the British. Five hundred prisoners
fell into Proctor’s hands; two or three hundred more of the Kentucky
98
brigade, including “the weak and obstinate but brave” Dudley himself,
99
must have been either killed in battle or massacred after surrender; only
one hundred and seventy escaped; the boats with the baggage were
captured; while the whole British loss on the north side of the river hardly
exceeded fifty killed and wounded. A bitter feeling against Proctor was
caused by the massacre of some forty American prisoners while under a
British guard, and also, as was alleged, under the eyes of General Proctor,
who did not interpose, although a soldier of the Forty-first was murdered in
trying to protect them. Probably all the prisoners would have been
massacred had Tecumthe not ridden up at full speed, tomahawk in hand,
100
and threatened to kill the first Indian who defied his authority.
On the south side Harrison had better fortune, and Colonel John Miller
of the Nineteenth U. S. Infantry by a sortie gallantly captured a battery, with
some forty prisoners; but neither on the north nor on the south did the
fighting of May 5 decide any immediate military result. Besides losing on
the north bank half the reinforcement brought by General Green Clay,
Harrison had lost in the siege and in the sorties on the south bank nearly
101
three hundred men in killed and wounded. If the numbers loosely
reported in the American accounts were correct, the siege cost Harrison one

thousand men, or fully half his entire force, including his reinforcements.
After the fighting of May 5, he withdrew once more into the fort; the British
batteries reopened fire, and the siege went on. No further attempt was made
to trouble the enemy in open field. Harrison felt himself too weak for
further ventures; yet never had his chance of a great success been so fair.
Proctor’s siege of Fort Meigs was already a failure. Not only had the
fort proved stronger than he expected, but the weather was bad; his troops
were without shelter; dysentery and loss in battle rapidly weakened them;
half his militia went home, and, what was fatal to further action, his Indians
could not be held together. Within three days after the battle of May 5, the
twelve hundred Indians collected by Tecumthe’s influence and exertions in
the northwest territory dispersed, leaving only Tecumthe himself and a
102
score of other warriors in the British camp. Proctor had no choice but to
retire as rapidly as possible, and May 9 embarked his artillery and left his
encampment without interference from Harrison, who looked on as a
spectator while the movement was effected.
From that time until the middle of July Proctor remained quiet.
Harrison moved his headquarters to Upper Sandusky and to Cleveland, and
began to prepare for advance under cover of a naval force; but he was not
allowed to rest, even though Proctor might have preferred repose. Proctor’s
103
position was difficult. Told by Sir George Prevost that he must capture
what supplies he needed from the Americans, and must seek them at Erie
and Cleveland, since Lower Canada could spare neither food nor transport,
he was compelled to look for support to the American magazines. He was
issuing ten thousand rations a day to the Indian families at Malden, and his
104
resources were near an end. Leaving Malden with either three hundred
and ninety-one regulars, or about five hundred regulars and militia, and by
one British account nearly a thousand Indians, by another between three
105
and four thousand, Proctor returned by water to the Maumee Rapids July
20, and tried to draw the garrison of Fort Meigs into an ambush. The
attempt failed. General Green Clay, who was in command, had learned
caution, and imposed it on his troops. Proctor then found that his Indians
were leaving him and returning to Detroit and Amherstburg. To occupy
them, Proctor took again to his boats and coasted the Lake shore as far as
the Sandusky River, while the Indians who chose to accompany him made

their way by land. August 1 the expedition effected a landing at the mouth
of the Sandusky, and scattered panic into the heart of Ohio.
In truth, nothing could be more alarming than this movement, which
threatened Harrison in all directions,—from Fort Meigs, on the Maumee, to
Erie, or Presqu’isle, where Perry’s fleet was building. On Sandusky River
Harrison had collected his chief magazines. All the supplies for his army
were lying at Upper Sandusky, some thirty miles above the British landing-
place, and he had only eight hundred raw recruits to defend their unfortified
106
position. Nothing but an untenable stockade, called Fort Stephenson, on
the Sandusky River, where the town of Fremont afterward grew, offered an
obstacle to the enemy in ascending; and Tecumthe with two thousand
Indians was said to be moving from Fort Meigs by the direct road straight
for the magazines, thus flanking Fort Stephenson and every intermediate
position on the Sandusky.
In just panic for the safety of his magazines, the only result of a year’s
campaigning, Harrison’s first thought was to evacuate Fort Stephenson in
order to protect Upper Sandusky. The flank-attack from two thousand
Indians, who never showed themselves, impelled him to retire before
Proctor, and to leave the river open. July 29, after a council of war, he sent
down a hasty order to young Major Croghan who commanded Fort
Stephenson, directing him immediately to burn the fort and retreat up the
107
river or along the Lake shore, as he best could, with the utmost haste.
Croghan, a Kentuckian, and an officer of the Seventeenth U. S. regiment,
refused to obey. “We have determined to maintain this place, and by
108
Heaven, we will,” he wrote back. Harrison sent Colonel Wells, of the
same regiment, to relieve him; but Croghan went to headquarters, and by
somewhat lame excuses carried his point, and resumed his command the
next day. Harrison gave him only conditional orders to abandon the fort,—
orders which Croghan clearly could not regard, and which Harrison seemed
109
to feel no confidence in his wishing to follow. In the face of British
troops with cannon he was to retreat; but “you must be aware that the
attempt to retreat in the face of an Indian force would be vain.” Proctor’s
main force was believed to be Indian.
Neither evacuating nor defending Fort Stephenson, Harrison remained
at Seneca, ten miles behind it, watching for Tecumthe and the flank attack,

and arranging a plan of battle for his eight hundred men by which he could
110
repel the Indians with dragoons in the open prairie. Croghan remained at
Fort Stephenson with one hundred and sixty men, making every preparation
to meet an attack. August 1 the woods were already filled with Indians, and
retreat was impossible, when the British boats appeared on the river, and
Proctor sent to demand surrender of the fort. Immediately on Croghan’s
refusal, the British howitzers opened fire and continued until it became
clear that they were too light to destroy the stockade.
If experience had been of service to Proctor, he should have learned to
avoid direct attack on Americans in fortified places; but his position was
difficult, and he was as much afraid of Harrison as Harrison was afraid of
him. Fearing to leave Croghan’s little fort in the rear, and to seek Harrison
himself, ten miles above, on the road to Upper Sandusky; fearing delay,
which would discontent his Indian allies; fearing to go on to Cleveland or
Erie without crippling Harrison; still more afraid to retire to Malden without
striking a blow,—Proctor again sacrificed the Forty-first regiment which
had suffered at the river Raisin and had been surprised at Fort Meigs. On
the afternoon of August 2 the Forty-first regiment and the militia, in three
111
columns of about one hundred and twenty men each, with the utmost
gallantry marched to the pickets of Fort Stephenson, and were shot down.
After two hours’ effort, and losing all its officers, the assaulting column
retired, leaving twenty-six dead, forty-one wounded, and about thirty
missing, or more than one fifth of their force. The same night the troops re-
embarked and returned to Malden.
112
Proctor’s report of this affair was filled with complaints of the
Indians, who could not be left idle and who would not fight. At Sandusky,
he said, “we could not muster more hundreds of Indians than I might
reasonably have expected thousands.”

“I could not, therefore, with my very small force remain more than
two days, from the probability of being cut off, and of being deserted
by the few Indians who had not already done so.... On the morning of
the 2d inst. the gentlemen of the Indian department who have the
direction of it, declared formally their decided opinion that unless the
fort was stormed we should never be able to bring an Indian warrior

into the field with us, and that they proposed and were ready to storm
one face of the fort if we would attempt another. I have also to observe
that in this instance my judgment had not that weight with the troops I
hope I might reasonably have expected.... The troops, after the artillery
had been used for some hours, attacked two faces, and impossibilities
being attempted, failed. The fort, from which the severest fire I ever
saw was maintained during the attack, was well defended. The troops
displayed the greatest bravery, the much greater part of whom reached
the fort and made every effort to enter; but the Indians who had
proposed the assault, and, had it not been assented to, would have ever
stigmatized the British character, scarcely came into fire before they
ran out of its reach. A more than adequate sacrifice having been made
to Indian opinion, I drew off the brave assailants.”

Sir George Prevost seemed to doubt whether Proctor’s excuse for the
113
defeat lessened or increased the blame attached to it. The defeat at
Sandusky ruined Proctor in the esteem of his men. On the American side,
Harrison’s conduct roused a storm of indignation. Through the whole day,
August 2, he remained at Seneca with eight hundred men, listening to the
cannonade at Fort Stephenson till late at night, when he received an express
from Croghan to say that the enemy were embarking. The story ran, that as
the distant sound of Croghan’s guns reached the camp at Seneca, Harrison
114
exclaimed: “The blood be on his own head; I wash my hands of it. ”
Whatever else might be true, his conduct betrayed an extravagant estimate
of his enemy’s strength. The only British eye-witness who left an account of
the expedition reckoned Proctor’s force, on its departure from Malden, at
115
about four hundred troops, and “nearly a thousand Indians.” The Indians
dispersed until those with Proctor at Fort Stephenson probably numbered
116
two or three hundred, the rest having returned to Detroit and Malden.
Harrison reported the British force as five thousand strong, on the authority
117
of General Green Clay.
Whether the British force was large or small, Harrison’s arrangements
to meet it did not please Secretary Armstrong. “It is worthy of notice,” he
118
wrote long afterward, “that of these two commanders, always the terror
of each other, one [Proctor] was now actually flying from his supposed

pursuer; while the other [Harrison] waited only the arrival of Croghan at
Seneca to begin a camp-conflagration and flight to Upper Sandusky.”
The well-won honors of the campaign fell to Major George Croghan,
with whose name the whole country resounded. Whatever were the faults of
the two generals, Major Croghan showed courage and intelligence, not only
before and during the attack, but afterward in supporting Harrison against
the outcry which for a time threatened to destroy the General’s authority.
Immediately after the siege of Fort Stephenson every energy of the
northwest turned toward a new offensive movement by water against
Malden, and in the task of organizing the force required for that purpose,
complaints of past failures were stifled. Secretary Armstrong did not forget
them, but the moment was not suited for making a change in so important a
command. Harrison organized, under Armstrong’s orders, a force of seven
thousand men to cross the Lake in boats, under cover of a fleet.
The fleet, not the army, was to bear the brunt of reconquering the
northwest; and in nothing did Armstrong show his ability so clearly as in
the promptness with which, immediately after taking office, he stopped
Harrison’s campaign on the Maumee, while Perry was set to work at Erie.
Feb. 5, 1813, Armstrong entered on his duties. March 5 his arrangements
for the new movements were already made. Harrison did not approve
119
them, but he obeyed. The Navy Department had already begun
operations on Lake Erie, immediately after Hull’s surrender; but though
something was accomplished in the winter, great difficulties had still to be
overcome when February 17 Commander Perry, an energetic young officer
on gunboat service at Newport, received orders from Secretary Jones to
report to Commodore Chauncey on Lake Ontario. Chauncey ordered him to
Presqu’isle, afterward called Erie, to take charge of the vessels under
construction on Lake Erie. March 27 he reached the spot, a small village in
a remote wilderness, where timber and water alone existed for the supply of
the fleets.
When Perry reached Presqu’isle the contractors and carpenters had on
the stocks two brigs, a schooner, and three gunboats. These were to be
launched in May, and to be ready for service in June. Besides these vessels
building at Erie, a number of other craft, including the prize brig
“Caledonia,” were at the Black Rock navy-yard in the Niagara River,

unable to move on account of the British fort opposite Buffalo and the
British fleet on the Lake. Perry’s task was to unite the two squadrons, to
man them, and to fight the British fleet, without allowing his enemy to
interfere at any stage of these difficult operations.
The British squadron under Commander Finnis, an experienced officer,
had entire control of the Lake and its shores. No regular garrison protected
the harbor of Presqu’isle; not two hundred men could be armed to defend it,
nor was any military support to be had nearer than Buffalo, eighty miles
away. Proctor or Prevost were likely to risk everything in trying to destroy
the shipyard at Erie; for upon that point, far more than on Detroit, Fort
Meigs, Sandusky, or Buffalo, their existence depended. If Perry were
allowed to control the Lake, the British must not only evacuate Detroit, but
also Malden, must abandon Tecumthe and the military advantages of three
or four thousand Indian auxiliaries, and must fall back on a difficult
defensive at the Niagara River. That they would make every effort to thwart
Perry seemed certain.
Superstition survived in nothing more obstinately than in faith in luck;
neither sailors nor soldiers ever doubted the value of this inscrutable quality
in the conduct of war. The “Chesapeake” was an unlucky ship to the
luckiest commanders, even to the British captain who captured it. The bad
luck of the “Chesapeake” was hardly steadier than the good luck of Oliver
Perry. Whatever he touched seemed to take the direction he wanted. He
began with the advantage of having Proctor for his chief enemy; but
Harrison, also a lucky man, had the same advantage and yet suffered
constant disasters. Commander Finnis was a good seaman, yet Finnis failed
repeatedly, and always by a narrow chance, to injure Perry. Dearborn’s
incompetence in 1813 was not less than it had been in 1812; but the single
success which in two campaigns Dearborn gained on the Niagara obliged
the British, May 27, to evacuate Fort Erie opposite Buffalo, and to release
Perry’s vessels at Black Rock. June 6, at leisure, Perry superintended the
removal of the five small craft from the navy-yard at Black Rock; several
hundred soldiers, seamen, and oxen warped them up stream into the Lake.
Loaded with stores, the little squadron sailed from Buffalo June 13; the
wind was ahead; they were five days making eighty miles; but June 19 they
arrived at Presqu’isle, and as the last vessel crossed the bar, Finnis and his
squadron came in sight. Finnis alone could explain how he, a first-rate

seaman, with a strong force and a fair wind, in such narrow seas, could have
helped finding Perry’s squadron when he knew where it must be.
From June 19 to August 1 Perry’s combined fleet lay within the bar at
Presqu’isle, while Proctor, with a sufficient fleet and a military force
superior to anything on the Lake, was planning expeditions from Malden
against every place except the one to which military necessity and the
orders of his Government bade him go. August 4, Perry took out the
armaments of his two brigs and floated both over the bar into deep water.
Had the British fleet been at hand, such a movement would have been
impossible or fatal; but the British fleet appeared just as Perry’s vessels got
into deep water, and when for the first time an attack could not be made
with a fair hope of success.
These extraordinary advantages were not gained without labor, energy,
courage, and wearing anxieties and disappointments. Of these Perry had his
full share, but no more; and his opponents were no better off than himself.
By great exertions alone could the British maintain themselves on Lake
Ontario, and to this necessity they were forced to sacrifice Lake Erie. Sir
George Prevost could spare only a new commander with a few officers and
some forty men from the lower Lake to meet the large American
reinforcements on the upper. When the commander, R. H. Barclay, arrived
at Malden in June, he found as many difficulties there as Perry found at
Presqu’isle. Barclay was a captain in the British Royal Navy, thirty-two
years old; he had lost an arm in the service, but he was fairly matched as
Perry’s antagonist, and showed the qualities of an excellent officer.
Perry’s squadron, once on the Lake, altogether overawed the British
fleet, and Barclay’s only hope lay in completing a vessel called the
“Detroit,” then on the stocks at Amherstburg. Rough and unfinished, she
was launched, and while Perry blockaded the harbor, Barclay, early in
September, got masts and rigging into her, and armed her with guns of
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every calibre, taken from the ramparts. Even the two American twenty-
four pound guns, used by Proctor against Fort Meigs, were put on board the
“Detroit.” Thus equipped, she had still to be manned; but no seamen were
near the Lake. Barclay was forced to make up a crew of soldiers from the
hardworked Forty-first regiment and Canadians unused to service.
September 6 the “Detroit” was ready to sail, and Barclay had then no choice

but to fight at any risk. “So perfectly destitute of provisions was the port
that there was not a day’s flour in store, and the crews of the squadron
under my command were on half allowance of many things; and when that
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was done, there was no more.”
Early on the morning of September 9 Barclay’s fleet weighed and
sailed for the enemy, who was then at anchor off the island of Put-in-Bay
near the mouth of Sandusky River. The British squadron consisted of six
vessels,—the “Detroit,” a ship of four hundred and ninety tons, carrying
nineteen guns, commanded by Barclay himself; the “Queen Charlotte” of
seventeen guns, commanded by Finnis; the “Lady Prevost” of thirteen guns;
the “Hunter” of ten; the “Little Belt” carrying three, and the “Chippeway”
carrying one gun,—in all, sixty-three guns, and probably about four
hundred and fifty men. The American squadron consisted of nine vessels,—
the “Lawrence,” Perry’s own brig, nearly as large as the “Detroit,” and
carrying twenty guns; the “Niagara,” commander Jesse D. Elliott, of the
same tonnage, with the same armament; the “Caledonia,” a three-gun brig;
the schooners “Ariel,” “Scorpion,” “Somers,” “Porcupine,” and “Tigress,”
carrying ten guns; and the sloop “Trippe,” with one gun,—in all, fifty-four
guns, with a nominal crew of five hundred and thirty-two men, and an
effective crew probably not greatly differing from the British. In other
respects Perry’s superiority was decided, as it was meant to be. The
Americans had thirty-nine thirty-two pound carronades; the British had not
a gun of that weight, and only fifteen twenty-four pound carronades. The
lightest guns on the American fleet were eight long twelve-pounders, while
twenty-four of the British guns threw only nine-pound shot, or less. The
American broadside threw at close range about nine hundred pounds of
metal; the British threw about four hundred and sixty. At long range the
Americans threw two hundred and eighty-eight pounds of metal; the British
threw one hundred and ninety-five pounds. In tonnage the Americans were
superior as eight to seven. In short, the Navy Department had done
everything reasonably necessary to insure success; and if the American
crews, like the British, were partly made up of landsmen, soldiers or
volunteers, the reason was in each case the same. Both governments
supplied all the seamen they had.
Between forces so matched, victory ought not to have been in doubt;
and if it was so, the fault certainly lay not in Perry. When, at daylight

September 10, his look-out discovered the British fleet, Perry got his own
squadron under way, and came down with a light wind from the southeast
against Barclay’s line, striking it obliquely near the head. Perry must have
been anxious to fight at close range, where his superiority was as two to
one, while at long range his ship could use only two long twelve-pounders
against the “Detroit’s” six twelves, one eighteen, and two twenty-fours,—an
inferiority amounting to helplessness. Both the “Lawrence” and the
“Niagara” were armed for close fighting, and were intended for nothing
else. At long range their combined broadside, even if all their twelve-
pounders were worked on one side, threw but forty-eight pounds of metal;
at short range the two brigs were able to throw six hundred and forty
pounds at each broadside.
Perry could not have meant to fight at a distance, nor could
Commander Elliott have thought it good seamanship. Yet Perry alone acted
on this evident scheme; and though his official account showed that he had
himself fought at close range, and that he ordered the other commanders to
do the same, it gave no sufficient reasons to explain what prevented the
whole fleet from acting together, and made the result doubtful. He did not
even mention that he himself led the line in the “Lawrence,” with two
gunboats, the “Ariel” and the “Scorpion,” supporting him, the “Caledonia,”
“Niagara,” and three gunboats following. The “Lawrence” came within
range of the British line just at noon, the wind being very light, the Lake
calm, and Barclay, in the “Detroit,” opposite. Perry’s report began at that
point:—

“At fifteen minutes before twelve the enemy commenced firing; at
five minutes before twelve the action commenced on our part. Finding
their fire very destructive, owing to their long guns, and its being
mostly directed to the ‘Lawrence,’ I made sail (at quarter-past twelve)
and directed the other vessels to follow, for the purpose of closing with
the enemy. Every brace and bowline being shot away, she became
unmanageable, notwithstanding the great exertions of the sailing-
master. In this situation she sustained the action upwards of two hours,
within canister-shot distance, until every gun was rendered useless, and
a greater part of the crew either killed or wounded. Finding she could
no longer annoy the enemy, I left her in charge of Lieutenant Yarnall,

who, I was convinced from the bravery already displayed by him,
would do what would comport with the honor of the flag. At half-past
two, the wind springing up, Captain Elliott was enabled to bring his
vessel, the ‘Niagara,’ gallantly into close action. I immediately went on
board of her, when he anticipated my wish by volunteering to bring the
schooners, which had been kept astern by the lightness of the wind,
into close action.... At forty-five minutes past two the signal was made
for ‘close action.’ The ‘Niagara’ being very little injured, I determined
to pass through the enemy’s line; bore up, and passed ahead of their
two ships and a brig, giving a raking fire to them from the starboard
guns, and to a large schooner and sloop, from the larboard side, at half
pistol-shot distance. The smaller vessels at this time having got within
grape and canister distance, under the direction of Captain Elliott, and
keeping up a well-directed fire, the two ships, a brig, and a schooner
surrendered, a schooner and sloop making a vain attempt to escape.”

From this reticent report, any careful reader could see that for some
reason, not so distinctly given as would have been the case if the wind alone
were at fault, the action had been very badly fought on the American side.
The British official account confirmed the impression given by Perry.
Barclay’s story was as well told as his action was well fought:—

“At a quarter before twelve I commenced the action by a few long
guns; about a quarter-past, the American commodore, also supported
by two schooners, ... came to close action with the ‘Detroit.’ The other
brig [the ‘Niagara’] of the enemy, apparently destined to engage the
‘Queen Charlotte,’ kept so far to windward as to render the ‘Queen
Charlotte’s’ twenty-four pounder carronades useless, while she was,
with the ‘Lady Prevost,’ exposed to the heavy and destructive fire of
the ‘Caledonia’ and four other schooners, armed with heavy and long
guns.... The action continued with great fury until half-past two, when I
perceived my opponent [the ‘Lawrence’] drop astern, and a boat
passing from him to the ‘Niagara,’ which vessel was at this time
perfectly fresh. The American commodore, seeing that as yet the day
was against him, ... made a noble and, alas! too successful an effort to
regain it; for he bore up, and supported by his small vessels, passed

within pistol-shot and took a raking position on our bow.... The
weather-gage gave the enemy a prodigious advantage, as it enabled
them not only to choose their position, but their distance also, which
they [the ‘Caledonia,’ ‘Niagara,’ and the gunboats] did in such a
manner as to prevent the carronades of the ‘Queen Charlotte’ and
‘Lady Prevost’ from having much effect, while their long ones did
great execution, particularly against the ‘Queen Charlotte.’”

Barclay’s report, agreeing with Perry’s, made it clear that while Perry
and the head of the American line fought at close quarters, the “Caledonia,”
“Niagara,” and the four gunboats supporting them preferred fighting at long
range,—not because they wanted wind, but because the “Caledonia” and
gunboats were armed with long thirty-two and twenty-four pounders, while
the British vessels opposed to them had only one or two long twelve-
pounders. Certainly the advantage in this respect on the side of the
American brig and gunboats was enormous; but these tactics threw the
“Niagara,” which had not the same excuse, out of the battle, leaving her,
from twelve o’clock till half-past two, firing only two twelve-pound guns,
while her heavy armament was useless, and might as well have been left
ashore. Worse than this, the persistence of the “Caledonia,” “Niagara,” and
their gunboats in keeping, beyond range of their enemies’ carronades nearly
lost the battle, by allowing the British to concentrate on the “Lawrence” all
their heavy guns, and in the end compelling the “Lawrence” to strike. On all
these points no reasonable doubt could exist. The two reports were the only
official sources of information on which an opinion as to the merits of the
action could properly be founded. No other account, contemporaneous and
authoritative, threw light on the subject, except a letter by Lieutenant
Yarnall, second in command to Perry on the “Lawrence,” written September
15, and published in the Ohio newspapers about September 29,—in which
Yarnall said that if Elliott had brought his ship into action when the signal
was given, the battle would have ended in much less time, and with less
loss to the “Lawrence.” This statement agreed with the tenor of the two
official reports.
Furious as the battle was, a more furious dispute raged over it when in
the year 1834 the friends of Perry and of Elliott wrangled over the action.
With their dispute history need not concern itself. The official reports left

no reasonable doubt that Perry’s plan of battle was correct; that want of
wind was not the reason it failed; but that the “Niagara” was badly managed
by Elliott, and that the victory, when actually forfeited by this
mismanagement, was saved by the personal energy of Perry, who,
abandoning his own ship, brought the “Niagara” through the enemy’s line,
and regained the advantage of her heavy battery. The luck which attended
Perry’s career on the Lake saved him from injury, when every other officer
on the two opposing flagships and four-fifths of his crew were killed or
wounded, and enabled him to perform a feat almost without parallel in
naval warfare, giving him a well-won immortality by means of the disaster
unnecessarily incurred. No process of argument or ingenuity of seamanship
could deprive Perry of the fame justly given him by the public, or detract
from the splendor of his reputation as the hero of the war. More than any
other battle of the time, the victory on Lake Erie was won by the courage
and obstinacy of a single man.
Between two opponents such as Perry and Barclay, no one doubted that
the ships were fought to their utmost. Of the “Lawrence” not much was left;
ship, officers, and crew were shot to pieces. Such carnage was not known
on the ocean, for even the cockpit where the sick and wounded lay, being
above water, was riddled by shot, and the wounded were wounded again on
the surgeon’s board. Of one hundred and three effectives on the
“Lawrence,” twenty-two were killed and sixty-one wounded. The brig
herself when she struck was a wreck, unmanageable, her starboard
bulwarks beaten in, guns dismounted, and rigging cut to pieces. The British
ships were in hardly better condition. The long guns of the gunboats had
raked them with destructive effect. Barclay was desperately wounded;
Finnis was killed; Barclay’s first lieutenant was mortally wounded; not one
commander or second in command could keep the deck; the squadron had
forty-one men killed and ninety-four wounded, or nearly one man in three;
the “Detroit” and “Queen Charlotte” were unmanageable and fell foul; the
“Lady Prevost” was crippled, and drifted out of the fight. Perry could
console himself with the thought that if his ship had struck her flag, she had
at least struck to brave men.

CHAPTER VI.
General Harrison, waiting at Seneca on the Sandusky River, received,
September 12, Perry’s famous despatch of September 10: “We have met the
enemy, and they are ours.” The navy having done its work, the army was
next to act.
The force under Harrison’s command was ample for the required
purpose, although it contained fewer regular troops than Armstrong had
intended. The seven regular regiments assigned to Harrison fell short in
numbers of the most moderate expectations. Instead of providing seven
thousand rank-and-file, the recruiting service ended in producing rather
122
more than twenty-five hundred. Divided into two brigades under
Brigadier-Generals McArthur and Lewis Cass, with a light corps under
Lieutenant-Colonel Ball of the Light Dragoons, they formed only one wing
of Harrison’s army.
To supply his main force, Harrison had still to depend on Kentucky;
and once more that State made a great effort. Governor Shelby took the
123
field in person, leading three thousand volunteers, organized in eleven
regiments, five brigades, and two divisions. Besides the militia, who
volunteered for this special purpose, Harrison obtained the services of
another Kentucky corps, which had already proved its efficiency.
One of Armstrong’s happiest acts, at the beginning of his service as
124
War Secretary, was to accept the aid of Richard M. Johnson in organizing
for frontier defence a mounted regiment of a thousand men, armed with
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muskets or rifles, tomahawks, and knives. Johnson and his regiment took
the field about June 1, and from that time anxiety on account of Indians
ceased. The regiment patrolled the district from Fort Wayne to the river
Raisin, and whether in marching or fighting proved to be the most efficient
corps in the Western country. Harrison obtained the assistance of Johnson’s
regiment for the movement into Canada, and thereby increased the
efficiency of his army beyond the proportion of Johnson’s numbers.

While the mounted regiment moved by the road to Detroit, Harrison’s
main force was embarked in boats September 20, and in the course of a few
days some forty-five hundred infantry were safely conveyed by way of Bass
Island and Put-in-Bay to Middle Sister Island, about twelve miles from the
126
Canadian shore. Harrison and Perry then selected a landing place, and
the whole force was successfully set ashore, September 27, about three
miles below Malden.
Although Proctor could not hope to maintain himself at Malden or
Detroit without control of the Lake, he had still the means of rendering
Harrison’s possession insecure. According to the British account, he
commanded at Detroit and Malden a force of nine hundred and eighty-six
127
regulars, giving about eight hundred effectives. Not less than thirty-five
hundred Indian warriors had flocked to Amherstburg, and although they
greatly increased the British general’s difficulties by bringing their families
with them, they might be formidable opponents to Harrison’s advance.
Every motive dictated to Proctor the necessity of resisting Harrison’s
approach. To Tecumthe and his Indians the evacuation of Malden and
Detroit without a struggle meant not only the sacrifice of their cause, but
also cowardice; and when Proctor announced to them, September 18, that
he meant to retreat, Tecumthe rose in the council and protested against the
flight, likening Proctor to a fat dog that had carried its tail erect, and now
128
that it was frightened dropped its tail between its legs and ran. He told
Proctor to go if he liked, but the Indians would remain.
Proctor insisted upon retiring at least toward the Moravian town,
seventy miles on the road to Lake Ontario, and the Indians yielded. The
troops immediately began to burn or destroy the public property at Detroit
and Malden, or to load on wagons or boats what could not be carried away.
September 24, three days before Harrison’s army landed, the British
evacuated Malden and withdrew to Sandwich, allowing Harrison to
establish himself at Malden without a skirmish, and neglecting to destroy
the bridge over the Canards River.
Harrison was surprised at Proctor’s tame retreat.

129
“Nothing but infatuation,” he reported, “could have governed
General Proctor’s conduct. The day that I landed below Malden he had
at his disposal upward of three thousand Indian warriors; his regular
force reinforced by the militia of the district would have made his
number nearly equal to my aggregate, which on the day of landing did
not exceed forty-five hundred.... His inferior officers say that his
conduct has been a series of continued blunders.”

This crowning proof of Proctor’s incapacity disorganized his force.
Tecumthe expressed a general sentiment of the British army in his public
denunciation of Proctor’s cowardice. One of the inferior British officers
afterward declared that Proctor’s “marked inefficiency” and “wanton
sacrifice” of the troops raised more than a doubt not only of his capacity but
even of his personal courage, and led to serious thoughts of taking away his
130
authority. The British at Sandwich went through the same experience that
marked the retreat of Hull and his army from the same spot, only the year
before.
Harrison on his side made no extreme haste to pursue. His army
131
marched into Malden at four o’clock on the afternoon of September 27,
and he wrote to Secretary Armstrong that evening: “I will pursue the enemy
to-morrow, although there is no probability of my overtaking him, as he has
132
upwards of a thousand horses, and we have not one in the army.” The
pursuit was not rapid. Sandwich, opposite Detroit, was only thirteen miles
above Malden, but Harrison required two days to reach it, arriving at two
o’clock on the afternoon of September 29. From there, September 30, he
wrote again to Secretary Armstrong that he was preparing to pursue the
133
enemy on the following day; but he waited for R. M. Johnson’s mounted
regiment, which arrived at Detroit September 30, and was obliged to
consume a day in crossing the river. Then the pursuit began with energy, but
on the morning of October 2 Proctor had already a week’s advance and
should have been safe.
Proctor seemed to imagine that the Americans would not venture to
134
pursue him. Moving, according to his own report, “by easy marches,”
neither obstructing the road in his rear nor leaving detachments to delay the

enemy, he reached Dolson’s October 1, and there halted his army, fifty
miles from Sandwich, while he went to the Moravian town some twenty-six
miles beyond. He then intended to make a stand at Chatham, three miles
behind Dolson’s.

“I had assured the Indians,” said Proctor’s report of October 23,
“that we would not desert them, and it was my full determination to
have made a stand at the Forks (Chatham), by which our vessels and
stores would be protected; but after my arrival at Dover [Dolson’s]
three miles lower down the river, I was induced to take post there first,
where ovens had been constructed, and where there was some shelter
for the troops, and had accordingly directed that it should be put into
the best possible state of defence that time and circumstances would
admit of; indeed it had been my intention to have opposed the enemy
nearer the mouth of the river, had not the troops contrary to my
intention been moved, during my absence of a few hours for the
purpose of acquiring some knowledge of the country in my rear.”

The British army, left at Dolson’s October 1, without a general or
135
orders, saw the American army arrive in its front, October 3, and retired
three miles to Chatham, where the Indians insisted upon fighting; but when,
136
the next morning, October 4, the Americans advanced in order of battle,
the Indians after a skirmish changed their minds and retreated. The British
were compelled to sacrifice the supplies they had brought by water to
Chatham for establishing their new base, and their retreat precipitated on
the Moravian town the confusion of flight already resembling rout.
Six miles on their way they met General Proctor returning from the
Moravian town, and as much dissatisfied with them as they with him.
Pressed closely by the American advance, the British troops made what
haste they could over excessively bad roads until eight o’clock in the
137
evening, when they halted within six miles of the Moravian town. The
next morning, October 5, the enemy was again reported to be close at hand,
and the British force again retreated. About a mile and a half from the
Moravian town it was halted. Proctor had then retired as far as he could,
and there he must either fight, or abandon women and children, sick and

wounded, baggage, stores, and wagons, desert his Indian allies, and fly to
Lake Ontario. Probably flight would not have saved his troops. More than a
hundred miles of unsettled country lay between them and their next base.
The Americans had in their advance the mounted regiment of R. M.
Johnson, and could outmarch the most lightly equipped British regulars.
Already, according to Proctor’s report, the rapidity of the Americans had
138
destroyed the efficiency of the British organization: —

“In the attempt to save provisions we became encumbered with
boats not suited to the state of navigation. The Indians and the troops
retreated on different sides of the river, and the boats to which
sufficient attention had not been given became particularly exposed to
the fire of the enemy who were advancing on the side the Indians were
retiring, and most unfortunately fell into possession of the enemy, and
with them several of the men, provisions, and all the ammunition that
had not been issued to the troops and Indians. This disastrous
circumstance afforded the enemy the means of crossing and advancing
on both sides of the river. Finding the enemy were advancing too near I
resolved to meet him, being strong in cavalry, in a wood below the
Moravian town, which last was not cleared of Indian women and
children, or of those of the troops, nor of the sick.”

The whole British force was then on the north bank of the river
Thames, retreating eastward by a road near the river bank. Proctor could
hardly claim to have exercised choice in the selection of a battleground,
unless he preferred placing his little force under every disadvantage. “The
troops were formed with their left to the river,” his report continued, “with a
reserve and a six-pounder on the road, near the river; the Indians on the
right.” According to the report of officers of the Forty-first regiment, two
lines of troops were formed in a thick forest, two hundred yards apart. The
first line began where the six-pound field-piece stood, with a range of some
fifty yards along the road. A few Canadian Light Dragoons were stationed
near the gun. To the left of the road was the river; to the right a forest, free
from underbrush that could stop horsemen, but offering cover to an
139
approaching enemy within twenty paces of the British line. In the wood
about two hundred men of the British Forty-first took position as well as

they could, behind trees, and there as a first line they waited some two
hours for their enemy to appear.
The second line, somewhat less numerous, two hundred yards behind
the first, and not within sight, was also formed in the wood; and on the
road, in rear of the second line, Proctor and his staff stationed themselves.
The Indians were collected behind a swamp on the right, touching and
covering effectually the British right flank, while the river covered the left.
Such a formation was best fitted for Harrison’s purposes, but the mere
arrangement gave little idea of Proctor’s weakness. The six-pound field-
piece, which as he afterward reported “certainly should have produced the
best effect if properly managed,” had not a round of ammunition, and could
140
not be fired. The Forty-first regiment was almost mutinous, but had it
been in the best condition it could not have held against serious attack. The
whole strength of the Forty-first was only three hundred and fifty-six rank-
141
and-file, or four hundred and eight men all told. The numbers of the
regiment actually in the field were reported as three hundred and fifteen
142
rank-and-file, or three hundred and sixty-seven men all told. The
dragoons were supposed not to exceed twenty. This petty force was unable
to see either the advancing enemy or its own members. The only efficient
corps in the field was the Indians, who were estimated by the British
sometimes at five hundred, at eight hundred, and twelve hundred in number,
and who were in some degree covered by the swamp.

A. B. Advance Guard on foot at head of 5 Collumns—the 1st
Battalion of the mounted Regiments.
C. D. Capt. Slecker’s Comp. of 100 men on foot at head of 2
Collumns
Note: five Brigades & Reserved Corps, Governor Shelbys
troops
G. D. E. represents the whole of the 2d Battalion after I was
wounded & finding it impracticable on account of logs &
the thickness of the woods to break through the Indian line
& form in their rear, I ordered the men to dismount & fight
the Indians in their own way, part of the time the Indians
contended for the ground at the 2d Swamp.

ACCOMPANYING COL. R. M. JOHNSON’S LETTER OF NOV. 21st
1813, DETAILING THE AFFAIR OF THE 5th AT THE RIVER
THAMES, ETC.—WAR DEPARTMENT ARCHIVES, MSS.

Harrison came upon the British line soon after two o’clock in the
afternoon, and at once formed his army in regular order of battle. As the
order was disregarded, and the battle was fought, as he reported, in a
143
manner “not sanctioned by anything that I had seen or heard of,” the
intended arrangement mattered little. In truth, the battle was planned as well
as fought by Richard M. Johnson, whose energy impressed on the army a
new character from the moment he joined it. While Harrison drew up his
infantry in order of battle, Johnson, whose mounted regiment was close to
144
the British line, asked leave to charge, and Harrison gave him the order,
although he knew no rule of war that sanctioned it.
Johnson’s tactics were hazardous, though effective. Giving to his
brother, James Johnson, half the regiment to lead up the road against the
six-pound gun and the British Forty-first regiment, R. M. Johnson with the
other half of his regiment wheeled to the left, at an angle with the road, and
crossed the swamp to attack twice his number of Indians posted in a thick
wood.
James Johnson, with his five hundred men, galloped directly through
145
the British first line, receiving a confused fire, and passing immediately
to the rear of the British second line, so rapidly as almost to capture Proctor
146
himself, who fled at full speed. As the British soldiers straggled in bands
or singly toward the rear, they found themselves among the American
mounted riflemen, and had no choice but to surrender. About fifty men,
with a single lieutenant, contrived to escape through the woods; all the rest
became prisoners.
R. M. Johnson was less fortunate. Crossing the swamp to his left, he
was received by the Indians in underbrush which the horses could not
penetrate. Under a sharp fire his men were obliged to dismount and fight at
close quarters. At an early moment of the battle, Johnson was wounded by
the rifle of an Indian warrior who sprang forward to despatch him, but was
killed by a ball from Johnson’s pistol. The fighting at that point was severe,

but Johnson’s men broke or turned the Indian line, which was uncovered
after the British defeat, and driving the Indians toward the American left,
brought them under fire of Shelby’s infantry, when they fled.
In this contest Johnson maintained that his regiment was alone
engaged. In a letter to Secretary Armstrong, dated six weeks after the battle,
147
he said: —

“I send you an imperfect sketch of the late battle on the river
Thames, fought solely by the mounted regiment; at least, so much so
that not fifty men from any other corps assisted.... Fought the Indians,
twelve hundred or fifteen hundred men, one hour and twenty minutes,
driving them from the extreme right to the extreme left of my line, at
which last point we came near Governor Shelby, who ordered Colonel
Simrall to reinforce me; but the battle was over, and although the
Indians were pursued half a mile, there was no fighting.”

Harrison’s official report gave another idea of the relative share taken
by the Kentucky infantry in the action; but the difference in dispute was
trifling. The entire American loss was supposed to be only about fifteen
killed and thirty wounded. The battle lasted, with sharpness, not more than
twenty minutes; and none but the men under Johnson’s command enjoyed
opportunity to share in the first and most perilous assault.
The British loss was only twelve men killed and thirty-six wounded.
The total number of British prisoners taken on the field and in the Moravian
town, or elsewhere on the day of battle, was four hundred and seventy-
seven; in the whole campaign, six hundred. All Proctor’s baggage, artillery,
small arms, stores, and hospital were captured in the Moravian town. The
Indians left thirty-three dead on the field, among them one reported to be
Tecumthe. After the battle several officers of the British Forty-first, well
acquainted with the Shawnee warrior, visited the spot, and identified his
body. The Kentuckians had first recognized it, and had cut long strips of
skin from the thighs, to keep, as was said, for razor-straps, in memory of the
148
river Raisin.
After Perry’s victory on Lake Erie, Tecumthe’s life was of no value to
himself or his people, and his death was no subject for regret; but the

manner chosen for producing this result was an expensive mode of
acquiring territory for the United States. The Shawnee warrior compelled
the government to pay for once something like the value of the lands it
took. The precise cost of the Indian war could not be estimated, being
combined in many ways with that of the war with England; but the British
counted for little, within the northwestern territory, except so far as
Tecumthe used them for his purposes. Not more than seven or eight
hundred British soldiers ever crossed the Detroit River; but the United
States raised fully twenty thousand men, and spent at least five million
dollars and many lives in expelling them. The Indians alone made this
outlay necessary. The campaign of Tippecanoe, the surrender of Detroit and
Mackinaw, the massacres at Fort Dearborn, the river Raisin, and Fort
Meigs, the murders along the frontier, and the campaign of 1813 were the
price paid for the Indian lands in the Wabash Valley.
No part of the war more injured British credit on the American
continent than the result of the Indian alliance. Except the capture of Detroit
and Mackinaw at the outset, without fighting, and the qualified success at
the river Raisin, the British suffered only mortifications, ending with the
total loss of their fleet, the abandonment of their fortress, the flight of their
army, and the shameful scene before the Moravian town, where four
hundred British regulars allowed themselves to be ridden over and captured
by five hundred Kentucky horsemen, with hardly the loss of a man to the
assailants. After such a disgrace the British ceased to be formidable in the
northwest. The Indians recognized the hopelessness of their course, and
from that moment abandoned their dependence on England.
The battle of the Thames annihilated the right division of the British
army in Upper Canada. When the remnants of Proctor’s force were
mustered, October 17, at Ancaster, a hundred miles from the battlefield,
149
about two hundred rank-and-file were assembled. Proctor made a report
of the battle blaming his troops, and Prevost issued a severe reprimand to
the unfortunate Forty-first regiment on the strength of Proctor’s
representations. In the end the Prince Regent disgraced both officers,
recognizing by these public acts the loss of credit the government had
suffered; but its recovery was impossible.

So little anxiety did General Harrison thenceforward feel about the
Eighth Military District which he commanded, that he returned to Detroit
October 7; his army followed him, and arrived at Sandwich, October 10,
without seeing an enemy. Promptly discharged, the Kentucky Volunteers
marched homeward October 14; the mounted regiment and its wounded
colonel followed a few days later, and within a fortnight only two brigades
of the regular army remained north of the Maumee.
At Detroit the war was closed, and except for two or three distant
expeditions was not again a subject of interest. The Indians were for the
most part obliged to remain within the United States jurisdiction. The great
number of Indian families that had been collected about Detroit and Malden
were rather a cause for confidence than fear, since they were in effect
hostages, and any violence committed by the warriors would have caused
them, their women and children, to be deprived of food and to perish of
starvation. Detroit was full of savages dependent on army supplies, and
living on the refuse and offal of the slaughter-yard; but their military
strength was gone. Some hundreds of the best warriors followed Proctor to
Lake Ontario, but Tecumthe’s northwestern confederacy was broken up,
and most of the tribes made submission.

CHAPTER VII.
The new Secretaries of War and Navy who took office in January,
1813, were able in the following October to show Detroit recovered. Nine
months solved the problem of Lake Erie. The problem of Lake Ontario
remained insoluble.
In theory nothing was simpler than the conquest of Upper Canada. Six
months before war was declared, Jan. 2, 1812, John Armstrong, then a
private citizen, wrote to Secretary Eustis a letter containing the remark,—

“In invading a neighboring and independent territory like Canada,
having a frontier of immense extent; destitute of means strictly its own
for the purposes of defence; separated from the rest of the empire by an
ocean, and having to this but one outlet,—this outlet forms your true
object or point of attack.”

The river St. Lawrence was the true object of attack, and the Canadians
hardly dared hope to defend it.

“From St. Regis to opposite Kingston,” said the Quebec “Gazette”
in 1814, “the southern bank of the river belongs to the United States. It
is well known that this river is the only communication between Upper
and Lower Canada. It is rapid and narrow in many places. A few
cannon judiciously posted, or even musketry, could render the
communication impracticable without powerful escorts, wasting and
parcelling the force applicable to the defence of the provinces. It is
needless to say that no British force can remain in safety or maintain
itself in Upper Canada without a ready communication with the lower
province.”

Closure of the river anywhere must compel the submission of the
whole country above, which could not provide its supplies. The American,

who saw his own difficulties of transport between New York and the Lakes,
thought well of his energy in surmounting them; but as the war took larger
proportions, and great fleets were built on Lake Ontario, the difficulties of
Canadian transport became insuperable. Toward the close of the war, Sir
150
George Prevost wrote to Lord Bathurst that six thirty-two-pound guns for
the fleet, hauled in winter four hundred miles from Quebec to Kingston,
would cost at least £2000 for transport. Forty twenty-four-pounders hauled
on the snow had cost £4,800; a cable of the largest size hauled from Sorel to
Kingston, two hundred and fifty-five miles, cost £1000 for transport. In
summer, when the river was open, the difficulties were hardly less. The
commissary-general reported that the impediments of navigation were
incalculable, and the scarcity of workmen, laborers, and voyageurs not to be
151
described.

(Larger)

UPPER CANADA
NEW YORK
EAST END OF
L A K E O N TA R I O
AND
RIVER ST. LAWRENCE
FROM
Kingston to French Mills
REDUCED FROM AN
ORIGINAL DRAWING IN THE
NAVAL DEPARTMENT

BY JOHN MELISH.
STRUTHERS & CO., ENGR’S, N.Y.

If these reasons for attacking and closing the river St. Lawrence had not
been decisive with the United States government, other reasons were
sufficient. The political motive was as strong as the military. Americans,
especially in New England, denied that treasonable intercourse existed with
Canada; but intercourse needed not to be technically treasonable in order to
have the effects of treason. Sir George Prevost wrote to Lord Bathurst, Aug.
152
27, 1814, when the war had lasted two years,—

“Two thirds of the army in Canada are at this moment eating beef
provided by American contractors, drawn principally from the States of
Vermont and New York. This circumstance, as well as that of the
introduction of large sums of specie into this province, being notorious
in the United States, it is to be expected Congress will take steps to
deprive us of those resources, and under that apprehension, large
droves are daily crossing the lines coming into Lower Canada.”

This state of things had then lasted during three campaigns, from the
beginning of the war. The Indians at Malden, the British army at Niagara,
the naval station at Kingston were largely fed by the United States. If these
supplies could be stopped, Upper Canada must probably fall; and they
could be easily stopped by interrupting the British line of transport
anywhere on the St. Lawrence.
The task was not difficult. Indeed, early in the war an enterprising
officer of irregulars, Major Benjamin Forsyth, carried on a troublesome
system of annoyance from Ogdensburg, which Sir George Prevost treated
153
with extreme timidity. The British commandant at Prescott, Major
Macdonnell, was not so cautious as the governor-general, but crossed the
river on the ice with about five hundred men, drove Forsyth from the town,
destroyed the public property, and retired in safety with a loss of eight
154
killed and fifty-two wounded. This affair, Feb. 23, 1813, closed
hostilities in that region, and Major Forsyth was soon ordered to Sackett’s
Harbor. His experience, and that of Major Macdonnell, proved how easy the
closure of such a river must be, exposed as it was for two hundred miles to
the fire of cannon and musketry.

The St. Lawrence was therefore the proper point of approach and attack
against Upper Canada. Armstrong came to the Department of War with that
idea fixed in his mind. The next subject for his consideration was the means
at his disposal.
During Monroe’s control of the War Department for two months,
between Dec. 3, 1812, and Feb. 5, 1813, much effort had been made to
increase the army. Monroe wrote to the chairman of the Military Committee
155
Dec. 22, 1812, a sketch of his ideas. He proposed to provide for the
general defence by dividing the United States into military districts, and
apportioning ninety-three hundred and fifty men among them as garrisons.
For offensive operations he required a force competent to overpower the
British defence, and in estimating his wants, he assumed that Canada
contained about twelve thousand British regulars, besides militia, and three
thousand men at Halifax.

“To demolish the British force from Niagara to Quebec,” said
Monroe, “would require, to make the thing secure, an efficient regular
army of twenty thousand men, with an army of reserve of ten
thousand.... If the government could raise and keep in the field thirty-
five thousand regular troops, ... the deficiency to be supplied even to
authorize an expedition against Halifax would be inconsiderable. Ten
thousand men would be amply sufficient; but there is danger of not
being able to raise that force, and to keep it at that standard.... My idea
is that provision ought to be made for raising twenty thousand men in
addition to the present establishment.”

Congress voted about fifty-eight thousand men, and after deducting ten
thousand for garrisons, counted on forty-eight thousand for service in
Canada. When Armstrong took control, Feb. 5, 1813, he began at once to
devise a plan of operation for the army which by law numbered fifty-eight
thousand men, and in fact numbered, including the staff and regimental
officers, eighteen thousand nine hundred and forty-five men, according to
the returns in the adjutant-general’s office February 16, 1813. Before he had
been a week in the War Department, he wrote, February 10, to Major-
General Dearborn announcing that four thousand men were to be
immediately collected at Sackett’s Harbor, and three thousand at Buffalo.

April 1, or as soon as navigation opened, the four thousand troops at
Sackett’s Harbor were to be embarked and transported in boats under
convoy of the fleet across the Lake at the mouth of the St. Lawrence, thirty-
five miles, to Kingston. After capturing Kingston, with its magazines, navy-
yards, and ships, the expedition was to proceed up the Lake to York
(Toronto) and capture two vessels building there. Thence it was to join the
corps of three thousand men at Buffalo, and attack the British on the
156
Niagara River.
In explaining his plan to the Cabinet, Armstrong pointed out that the
attack from Lake Champlain on Montreal could not begin before May 1;
that Kingston, between April 1 and May 15, was shut from support by ice;
that not more than two thousand men could be gathered to defend it; and
that by beginning the campaign against Kingston rather than against
Montreal, six weeks’ time would be gained before reinforcements could
157
arrive from England.
Whatever defects the plan might have, Kingston, and Kingston alone,
possessed so much military importance as warranted the movement.
Evidently Armstrong had in mind no result short of the capture of Kingston.
Dearborn received these instructions at Albany, and replied, February
18, that nothing should be omitted on his part in endeavoring to carry into
158
effect the expedition proposed. Orders were given for concentrating the
intended force at Sackett’s Harbor. During the month of March the
preparations were stimulated by a panic due to the appearance of Sir George
Prevost at Prescott and Kingston. Dearborn hurried to Sackett’s Harbor in
person, under the belief that the governor-general was about to attack it.
Armstrong estimated the British force at Kingston as nine hundred
regulars, or two thousand men all told; and his estimate was probably
correct. The usual garrison at Kingston and Prescott was about eight
hundred rank-and-file. In both the British and American services, the
returns of rank-and-file were the ordinary gauge of numerical force. Rank-
and-file included corporals, but not sergeants or commissioned officers; and
an allowance of at least ten sergeants and officers was always to be made
for every hundred rank-and-file, in order to estimate the true numerical
strength of an army or garrison. Unless otherwise mentioned, the return

excluded also the sick and disabled. The relative force of every army was
given in effectives, or rank-and-file actually present for duty.
In the distribution of British forces in Canada for 1812–1813, the
garrison at Prescott was allowed three hundred and seventy-six rank-and-
file, with fifty-two officers including sergeants. To Kingston three hundred
and eighty-four rank-and-file were allotted, with sixty officers including
sergeants. To Montreal and the positions between Prescott and the St. John’s
159
River about five thousand rank-and-file were allotted. At Prescott and
Kingston, besides the regular troops, the men employed in ship-building or
other labor, the sailors, and the local militia were to be reckoned as part of
the garrison, and Armstrong included them all in his estimate of two
thousand men.
The British force should have been known to Dearborn nearly as well
as his own. No considerable movement of troops between Lower and Upper
Canada could occur without his knowledge. Yet Dearborn wrote to
160
Armstrong, March 9, 1813, from Sackett’s Harbor, —

“I have not yet had the honor of a visit from Sir George Prevost.
His whole force is concentrated at Kingston, probably amounting to six
or seven thousand,—about three thousand of them regular troops. The
ice is good, and we expect him every day.... As soon as the fall [fate?]
of this place [Sackett’s Harbor] shall be decided, we shall be able to
determine on other measures. If we hold this place, we will command
the Lake, and be able to act in concert with the troops at Niagara.”

161
A few days later, March 14, Dearborn wrote again.

“Sir George,” he said, had “concluded that it is too late to attack
this place.... We are probably just strong enough on each side to defend,
but not in sufficient force to hazard an offensive movement. The
difference of attacking and being attacked, as it regards the contiguous
posts of Kingston and Sackett’s Harbor, cannot be estimated at less
than three or four thousand men, arising from the circumstance of
militia acting merely on the defensive.”

Clearly Dearborn did not approve Armstrong’s plan, and wished to
change it. In this idea he was supported, or instigated, by the naval
commander on the Lake, Isaac Chauncey, a native of Connecticut, forty
years of age, who entered the service in 1798 and became captain in 1806.
Chauncey and Dearborn consulted together, and devised a new scheme,
162
which Dearborn explained to Armstrong about March 20: —

“To take or destroy the armed vessels at York will give us the
complete command of the Lake. Commodore Chauncey can take with
him ten or twelve hundred troops to be commanded by Pike; take York;
from thence proceed to Niagara and attack Fort George by land and
water, while the troops at Buffalo cross over and carry Forts Erie and
Chippewa, and join those at Fort George; and then collect our whole
force for an attack on Kingston. After the most mature deliberation the
above was considered by Commodore Chauncey and myself as the
most certain of ultimate success.”

Thus Dearborn and Chauncey inverted Armstrong’s plan. Instead of
attacking on the St. Lawrence, they proposed to attack on the Niagara.
163
Armstrong acquiesced. “Taking for granted,” as he did on Dearborn’s
assertion, “that General Prevost ... has assembled at Kingston a force of six
or eight thousand men, as stated by you,” he could not require that his own
plan should be pursued. “The alteration in the plan of campaign so as to
make Kingston the last object instead of making it the first, would appear to
164
be necessary, or at least proper,” he wrote to Dearborn, March 29.
The scheme proposed by Dearborn and Chauncey was carried into
effect by them. The contractors furnished new vessels, which gave to
Chauncey for a time the control of the Lake. April 22 the troops, numbering
sixteen hundred men, embarked. Armstrong insisted on only one change in
the expedition, which betrayed perhaps a shade of malice, for he required
Dearborn himself to command it, and Dearborn was suspected of shunning
service in the field.
From the moment Dearborn turned away from the St. Lawrence and
carried the war westward, the naval and military movements on Lake
Ontario became valuable chiefly as a record of failure. The fleet and army

arrived at York early in the morning of April 27. York, a village numbering
in 1806, according to British account, more than three thousand inhabitants,
was the capital of Upper Canada, and contained the residence of the
lieutenant-governor and the two brick buildings where the Legislature met.
For military purposes the place was valueless, but it had been used for the
construction of a few war-vessels, and Chauncey represented, through
Dearborn, that “to take or destroy the armed vessels at York will give us the
complete command of the Lake.” The military force at York, according to
British account, did not exceed six hundred men, regulars and militia; and
of these, one hundred and eighty men, or two companies of the Eighth or
165
King’s regiment, happened to be there only in passing.
Under the fire of the fleet and riflemen, Pike’s brigade was set ashore;
the British garrison, after a sharp resistance, was driven away, and the town
capitulated. The ship on the stocks was burned; the ten-gun brig
“Gloucester” was made prize; the stores were destroyed or shipped; some
three hundred prisoners were taken; and the public buildings, including the
houses of Assembly, were burned. The destruction of the Assembly houses,
afterward alleged as ground for retaliation against the capitol at
Washington, was probably the unauthorized act of private soldiers.
Dearborn protested that it was done without his knowledge and against his
166
orders.
The success cost far more than it was worth. The explosion of a powder
magazine, near which the American advance halted, injured a large number
of men on both sides. Not less than three hundred and twenty Americans
167
were killed or wounded in the battle or explosion, or about one fifth of
the entire force. General Pike, the best brigadier then in the service, was
168
killed. Only two or three battles in the entire war were equally bloody.
“Unfortunately the enemy’s armed ship the ‘Prince Regent,’” reported
169
Dearborn, “left this place for Kingston four days before we arrived.”
Chauncey and Dearborn crossed to Niagara, while the troops remained
some ten days at York, and were then disembarked at Niagara, May 8,
according to Dearborn’s report, “in a very sickly and depressed state; a
170
large proportion of the officers and men were sickly and debilitated.”
Nothing was ready for the movement which was to drive the British from

Fort George, and before active operations could begin, Dearborn fell ill.
The details of command fell to his chief-of-staff, Colonel Winfield Scott.
The military organization at Niagara was at best unfortunate. One of
Secretary Armstrong’s earliest measures was to issue the military order
previously arranged by Monroe, dividing the Union into military districts.
Vermont and the State of New York north of the highlands formed the Ninth
Military District, under Major-General Dearborn. In the Ninth District were
three points of activity,—Plattsburg on Lake Champlain, Sackett’s Harbor
on Lake Ontario, and the Niagara River. Each point required a large force
and a commander of the highest ability; but in May, 1813, Plattsburg and
Sackett’s Harbor were denuded of troops and officers, who were all drawn
to Niagara, where they formed three brigades, commanded by Brigadier-
Generals John P. Boyd, who succeeded Pike, John Chandler, and W. H.
Winder. Niagara and the troops in its neighborhood were under the
command of Major-General Morgan Lewis, a man of ability, but possessing
neither the youth nor the energy to lead an army in the field, while Boyd,
Chandler, and Winder were competent only to command regiments.
Winfield Scott in effect assumed control of the army, and undertook to
carry out Van Rensselaer’s plan of the year before for attacking Fort George
in the rear, from the Lake. The task was not very difficult. Chauncey
controlled the Lake, and his fleet was at hand to transfer the troops.
Dearborn’s force numbered certainly not less than four thousand rank-and-
file present for duty. The entire British regular force on the Niagara River
did not exceed eighteen hundred rank-and-file, and about five hundred
171
militia. At Fort George about one thousand regulars and three hundred
militia were stationed, and the military object to be gained by the
Americans was not so much the capture of Fort George, which was then not
defensible, as that of its garrison.
Early on the morning of May 27, when the mist cleared away, the
British General Vincent saw Chauncey’s fleet, “in an extended line of more
than two miles,” standing toward the shore. When the ships took position,
“the fire from the shipping so completely enfiladed and scoured the plains,
that it became impossible to approach the beach,” and Vincent could only
concentrate his force between the Fort and the enemy, waiting attack.
Winfield Scott at the head of an advance division first landed, followed by

the brigades of Boyd, Winder, and Chandler, and after a sharp skirmish
drove the British back along the Lake shore, advancing under cover of the
172
fleet. Vincent’s report continued: —

“After awaiting the approach of the enemy for about half an hour I
received authentic information that his force, consisting of from four to
five thousand men, had reformed his columns and was making an effort
to turn my right flank. Having given orders for the fort to be evacuated,
the guns to be spiked, and the ammunition destroyed, the troops under
my command were put in motion, and marched across the country in a
line parallel to the Niagara River, toward the position near the Beaver
Dam beyond Queenston mountain.... Having assembled my whole
force the following morning, which did not exceed sixteen hundred
men, I continued my march toward the head of the Lake.”

Vincent lost severely in proportion to his numbers, for fifty-one men
were killed, and three hundred and five were wounded or missing, chiefly
173
in the Eighth or King’s regiment. Several hundred militia were captured
in his retreat. The American loss was about forty killed and one hundred
and twenty wounded. According to General Morgan Lewis, Col. Winfield
174
Scott “fought nine-tenths of the battle.” Dearborn watched the
movements from the fleet.
For a time this success made a deep impression on the military
administration of Canada, and the abandonment of the whole country west
175
of Kingston was thought inevitable. The opportunity for achieving a
decided advantage was the best that occurred for the Americans during the
entire war; but whatever might be said in public, the battle of Fort George
176
was a disappointment to the War Department as well as to the officers in
command of the American army, who had hoped to destroy the British
force. The chief advantage gained was the liberation of Perry’s vessels at
Black Rock above the Falls, which enabled Perry to complete his fleet on
Lake Erie.
On Lake Ontario, May 31, Chauncey insisted, not without cause, on
returning to Sackett’s Harbor. Dearborn, instead of moving with his whole

force, ordered Brigadier-General Winder, June 1, to pursue Vincent. Winder,
with eight hundred or a thousand men marched twenty miles, and then sent
for reinforcements. He was joined, June 5, by General Chandler with
another brigade. Chandler then took command, and advanced with a force
177
supposed to number in the aggregate two thousand men to Stony Creek,
within ten miles of Vincent’s position at Hamilton, where sixteen hundred
British regulars were encamped. There Chandler and Winder posted
themselves for the night, much as Winchester and his Kentuckians had
178
camped at the river Raisin four months earlier.
Vincent was not to be treated with such freedom. Taking only seven
179
hundred rank-and-file, he led them himself against Chandler’s camp. The
attack began, in intense darkness, at two o’clock in the morning of June 6.
The British quickly broke the American centre and carried the guns. The
lines became mixed, and extreme confusion lasted till dawn. In the darkness
both American generals, Chandler and Winder, walked into the British force
180
in the centre, and were captured. With difficulty the two armies
succeeded in recovering their order, and then retired in opposite directions.
The British suffered severely, reporting twenty-three killed, one hundred
and thirty-four wounded, and fifty-five missing, or two hundred and twelve
181
men in all; but they safely regained Burlington Heights at dawn. The
American loss was less in casualties, for it amounted only to fifty-five
killed and wounded, and one hundred missing; but in results the battle at
Stony Creek was equally disgraceful and decisive. The whole American
force, leaving the dead unburied, fell back ten miles, where Major-General
Lewis took command in the afternoon of June 7. An hour later the British
fleet under Sir James Yeo made its appearance, threatening to cut off
Lewis’s retreat. Indians hovered about. Boats and baggage were lost.
Dearborn sent pressing orders to Lewis directing him to return, and on the
182
morning of June 8 the division reached Fort George.
These mortifications prostrated Dearborn, whose strength had been
steadily failing. June 8 he wrote to Armstrong: “My ill state of health
renders it extremely painful to attend to the current duties; and unless my
health improves soon, I fear I shall be compelled to retire to some place
183
where my mind may be more at ease for a short time.” June 10, his

adjutant-general, Winfield Scott, issued orders devolving on Major-General
Morgan Lewis the temporary command not only of the Niagara army but
184
also of the Ninth Military district. “In addition to the debility and fever
he has been afflicted with,” wrote Dearborn’s aid, S. S. Connor, to Secretary
185
Armstrong, June 12, “he has, within the last twenty-four hours,
experienced a violent spasmodic attack on his breast, which has obliged
him to relinquish business altogether.” “I have doubts whether he will ever
186
again be fit for service,” wrote Morgan Lewis to Armstrong, June 14; “he
has been repeatedly in a state of convalescence, but relapses on the least
agitation of mind.” June 20 Dearborn himself wrote in a very despondent
spirit both in regard to his health and to the military situation: “I have been
so reduced in strength as to be incapable of any command. Brigadier-
187
General Boyd is the only general officer present.”
The sudden departure of Morgan Lewis, ordered to Sackett’s Harbor,
left General Boyd for a few days to act as the general in command at
Niagara. Boyd, though well known for his success at Tippecanoe, was not a
favorite in the army. “A compound of ignorance, vanity, and petulance,”
188
wrote his late superior, Morgan Lewis, “with nothing to recommend him
but that species of bravery in the field which is vaporing, boisterous, stifling
reflection, blinding observation, and better adapted to the bully than the
soldier.”
Galled by complaints of the imbecility of the army, Boyd, with
189
Dearborn’s approval, June 23, detached Colonel Boerstler of the
Fourteenth Infantry with some four hundred men and two field-pieces, to
batter a stone house at Beaver Dam, some seventeen miles from Fort
190
George. Early in the morning of June 24 Boerstler marched to Beaver
Dam. There he found himself surrounded in the woods by hostile Indians,
numbering according to British authority about two hundred. The Indians,
annoying both front and rear, caused Boerstler to attempt retreat, but his
191
retreat was stopped by a few militia-men, said to number fifteen. A small
detachment of one hundred and fifty men came to reinforce Boerstler, and
Lieutenant Fitzgibbon of the British Forty-ninth regiment, with forty-seven
men, reinforced the Indians. Unable to extricate himself, and dreading
dispersion and massacre, Boerstler decided to surrender; and his five

hundred and forty men accordingly capitulated to a British lieutenant with
two hundred and sixty Indians, militia, and regulars.
Dearborn reported the disaster as “an unfortunate and unaccountable
192
event;” but of such events the list seemed endless. A worse disaster,
equally due to Dearborn and Chauncey, occurred at the other end of the
Lake. Had they attacked Kingston, as Armstrong intended, their movement
would have covered Sackett’s Harbor; but when they placed themselves a
hundred and fifty miles to the westward of Sackett’s Harbor, they could do
nothing to protect it. Sackett’s Harbor was an easy morning’s sail from
Kingston, and the capture of the American naval station was an object of
infinite desire on the part of Sir George Prevost, since it would probably
decide the result of the war.
Prevost, though not remarkable for audacity, could not throw away
such an opportunity without ruining his reputation. He came to Kingston,
and while Dearborn was preparing to capture Fort George in the night of
May 26–27, Prevost embarked his whole regular force, eight hundred men
193
all told, on Yeo’s fleet at Kingston, set sail in the night, and at dawn of
194
May 27 was in sight of Sackett’s Harbor.
Had Yeo and Prevost acted with energy, they must have captured the
Harbor without serious resistance. According to Sir George’s official report,
“light and adverse winds” prevented the ships from nearing the Fort until
195
evening. Probably constitutional vacillation on the part of Sir James Yeo
caused delay, for Prevost left the control wholly to him and Colonel
196
Baynes.
At Sackett’s Harbor about four hundred men of different regular
regiments, and about two hundred and fifty Albany volunteers were in
garrison; and a general alarm, given on appearance of the British fleet in the
distance, brought some hundreds of militia into the place; but the most
important reinforcement was Jacob Brown, a brigadier-general of State
militia who lived in the neighborhood, and had been requested by Dearborn
to take command in case of an emergency. Brown arrived at the Harbor in
time to post the men in order of battle. Five hundred militia were placed at
the point where the British were expected to land; the regulars were
arranged in a second line; the forts were in the rear.

(Larger)

EAST END
OF
LAKE ONTARIO
STRUTHERS & CO., ENGR’S., N.Y.

At dawn of May 28, under command of Colonel Baynes, the British
grenadiers of the One Hundredth regiment landed gallantly under “so heavy
and galling a fire from a numerous but almost invisible foe, as to render it

197
impossible to halt for the artillery to come up.” Pressing rapidly forward,
without stopping to fire, the British regulars routed the militia and forced
the second line back until they reached a block-house at the edge of the
village, where a thirty-two pound gun was in position, flanked by log
barracks and fallen timber. While Brown with difficulty held his own at the
military barracks, the naval lieutenant in charge of the ship-yard, being told
that the battle was lost, set fire to the naval barracks, shipping, and store-
houses. Brown’s indignation at this act was intense.

“The burning of the marine barracks was as infamous a transaction
198
as ever occurred among military men,” he wrote to Dearborn. “The
fire was set as our regulars met the enemy upon the main line; and if
anything could have appalled these gallant men it would have been the
flames in their rear. We have all, I presume, suffered in the public
estimation in consequence of this disgraceful burning. The fact is,
however, that the army is entitled to much higher praise than though it
had not occurred. The navy are alone responsible for what happened on
Navy Point, and it is fortunate for them that they have reputations
sufficient to sustain the shock.”

Brown’s second line stood firm at the barracks, and the British attack
found advance impossible. Sir George Prevost’s report admitted his
199
inability to go farther: —

“A heavier fire than that of musketry having become necessary in
order to force their last position, I had the mortification to learn that the
continuation of light and adverse winds had prevented the co-operation
of the ships, and that the gunboats were unequal to silence the enemy’s
elevated batteries, or to produce any effect on their block houses.
Considering it therefore impracticable without such assistance to carry
the strong works by which the post was defended, I reluctantly ordered
the troops to leave a beaten enemy whom they had driven before them
for upwards of three hours, and who did not venture to offer the
slightest opposition to the re-embarkation, which was effected with
proper deliberation and in perfect order.”

If Sir George was correct in regarding the Americans as “a beaten
enemy,” his order of retreat to his own troops seemed improper; but his
language showed that he used the words in a sense of his own, and Colonel
200
Baynes’s report gave no warrant for the British claim of a victory.

201
“At this point,” said Baynes, “the further energies of the troops
became unavailing. Their [American] block-houses and stockaded
battery could not be carried by assault, nor reduced by field-pieces had
we been provided with them.... Seeing no object within our reach to
attain that could compensate for the loss we were momentarily
sustaining from the heavy fire of the enemy’s cannon, I directed the
troops to take up the position we had charged from. From this position
we were ordered to re-embark, which was performed at our leisure and
in perfect order, the enemy not presuming to show a single soldier
without the limits of his fortress.”

Another and confidential report was written by E. B. Brenton of
202
Prevost’s staff to the governor’s military secretary, Noah Freer. After
describing the progress of the battle until the British advance was stopped,
Brenton said that Colonel Baynes came to Sir George to tell him that the
men could not approach nearer the works with any prospect of success:—

“It was however determined to collect all the troops at a point, to
form the line, and to make an attack immediately upon the battery and
barracks in front. For this purpose the men in advance were called in,
the line formed a little without the reach of the enemy’s musketry, and
though evidently much fagged, was, after being supplied with fresh
ammunition, again led in line. At this time I do not think the whole
force collected in the lines exceeded five hundred men.”

The attack was made, and part of the Hundred-and-fourth regiment
succeeded in getting shelter behind one of the American barracks, preparing
for a farther advance. Sir George Prevost, under a fire which his aid
described as tremendous,—“I do not exaggerate when I tell you that the
shot, both of musketry and grape, was falling about us like hail,”—watched

the American position through a glass, when, “at this time those who were
left of the troops behind the barracks made a dash out to charge the enemy;
but the fire was so destructive that they were instantly turned by it, and the
retreat was sounded. Sir George, fearless of danger and disdaining to run or
to suffer his men to run, repeatedly called out to them to retire in order;
many however made off as fast as they could.”
These reports agreed that the British attack was totally defeated, with
severe loss, before the retreat was sounded. Such authorities should have
silenced dispute; but Prevost had many enemies in Canada, and at that
period of the war the British troops were unused to defeat. Both Canadians
and English attacked the governor-general privately and publicly, freely
charging him with having disgraced the service, and offering evidence of
203
his want of courage in the action. Americans, though not interested in the
defence of Prevost, could not fail to remark that the British and Canadian
authorities who condemned him, assumed a condition of affairs altogether
different from that accepted by American authorities. The official American
reports not only supported the views taken by Prevost and Baynes of the
hopelessness of the British attack, but added particulars which made
Prevost’s retreat necessary. General Brown’s opinion was emphatic: “Had
not General Prevost retired most rapidly under the guns of his vessels, he
204
would never have returned to Kingston.” These words were a part of
Brown’s official report. Writing to Dearborn he spoke with the same
205
confidence: —

“The militia were all rallied before the enemy gave way, and were
marching perfectly in his view towards the rear of his right flank; and I
am confident that even then, if Sir George had not retired with the
utmost precipitation to his boats, he would have been cut off.”

Unlike the Canadians, Brown thought Prevost’s conduct correct and
necessary, but was by no means equally complimentary to Sir James Yeo,
whom he blamed greatly for failing to join in the battle. The want of wind
which Yeo alleged in excuse, Brown flatly denied. From that time Brown
entertained and freely expressed contempt for Yeo, as he seemed also to feel

little respect for Chauncey. His experience with naval administration on
both sides led him to expect nothing but inefficiency from either.
Whatever were the true causes of Prevost’s failure, Americans could
not admit that an expedition which cost the United States so much, and
which so nearly succeeded, was discreditable to the British governor-
general, or was abandoned without sufficient reason. The British return of
killed and wounded proved the correctness of Prevost, Baynes, and Brown
in their opinion of the necessity of retreat. According to the report of
Prevost’s severest critics, he carried less than seven hundred and fifty rank-
206
and-file to Sackett’s Harbor. The returns showed forty-four rank-and-file
killed; one hundred and seventy-two wounded, and thirteen missing,—in
all, two hundred and twenty-nine men, or nearly one man in three. The loss
in officers was relatively even more severe; and the total loss in an
aggregate which could hardly have numbered much more than eight
hundred and fifty men all told, amounted to two hundred and fifty-nine
killed, wounded, and missing, leaving Prevost less than six hundred men to
207
escape, in the face of twice their numbers and under the fire of heavy
208
guns.
The British attack was repulsed, and Jacob Brown received much credit
as well as a commission of brigadier-general in the United States army for
his success; but the injury inflicted by the premature destruction at the
navy-yard was very great, and was sensibly felt. Such a succession of ill
news could not but affect the Government. The repeated failures to destroy
the British force at Niagara; the disasters of Chandler, Winder, and
Boerstler; the narrow and partial escape of Sackett’s Harbor; the total
incapacity of Dearborn caused by fever and mortification,—all these evils
were not the only or the greatest subjects for complaint. The two
commanders, Dearborn and Chauncey, had set aside the secretary’s plan of
campaign, and had substituted one of their own, on the express ground of
their superior information. While affirming that the garrison at Kingston
had been reinforced to a strength three or four times as great as was
humanly possible, they had asserted that the capture of York would answer
their purpose as well as the capture of Kingston, to “give us the complete
command of the Lake.” They captured York, April 27, but the British fleet
appeared June 6, and took from them the command of the Lake. These

miscalculations or misstatements, and the disasters resulting from them,
warranted the removal of Chauncey as well as Dearborn from command;
but the brunt of dissatisfaction fell on Dearborn alone. Both Cabinet and
Congress agreed in insisting on Dearborn’s retirement, and the President
was obliged to consent. July 6, Secretary Armstrong wrote,—

“I have the President’s orders to express to you the decision that
you retire from the command of District No. 9, and of the troops within
the same, until your health be re-established and until further orders.”

CHAPTER VIII.
Armstrong’s embarrassment was great in getting rid of the generals
whom Madison and Eustis left on his hands. Dearborn was one example of
what he was obliged to endure, but Wilkinson was a worse. According to
209
Armstrong’s account, New Orleans was not believed to be safe in
Wilkinson’s keeping. The senators from Louisiana, Tennessee, and
Kentucky remonstrated to the President, and the President ordered his
removal. Armstrong and Wilkinson had been companions in arms, and had
served with Gates at Saratoga. For many reasons Armstrong wished not
unnecessarily to mortify Wilkinson, and in conveying to him, March 10, the
210
abrupt order to proceed with the least possible delay to the headquarters
of Major-General Dearborn at Sackett’s Harbor, the Secretary of War added,
211
March 12, a friendly letter of advice: —

“Why should you remain in your land of cypress when patriotism
and ambition equally invite to one where grows the laurel? Again, the
men of the North and East want you; those of the South and West are
less sensible of your merits and less anxious to have you among them. I
speak to you with a frankness due to you and to myself, and again
advise, Come to the North, and come quickly! If our cards be well
played, we may renew the scene of Saratoga.”

The phrase was curious. Saratoga suggested defeated invasion rather
than conquest; the surrender of a British army in the heart of New York
rather than the capture of Montreal. The request for Wilkinson’s aid was
disheartening. No one knew better than Armstrong the feebleness of
Wilkinson’s true character. “The selection of this unprincipled imbecile was
not the blunder of Secretary Armstrong,” said Winfield Scott long
212
afterward; but the idea that Wilkinson could be chief-of-staff to
Dearborn,—that one weak man could give strength to another,—was almost

as surprising as the selection of Wilkinson to chief command would have
been. Armstrong did not intend that Wilkinson should command more than
213
a division under Dearborn; but he must have foreseen that in the event of
Dearborn’s illness or incapacity, Wilkinson would become by seniority
general-in-chief.

(Larger)

REMARKS
Cedars: A small Village, a place of business, built pretty
compact, several stone houses: Settlers, Scottish and 9 or 10
French.
River d l’Isle The course of this River is S. and E. till within
4 or 5 miles of the St. Lawrence thence it runs almost
parallel with that river to its mouth at the Coteau. It is
about 4 rods wide at its mouth and is shoal. One mile
above the confluence the distance is only ¾ mile between
the two rivers: The banks of both are low and flat.
There is a settlement of 60 French Families or upwards 4
miles above Coteau. No road thence to Point Bodet distant
7½ miles.
The road is excellent from Pt. Bodet to Raisin R.

McPherson keeps Tavern at Pt. Mouille and a Ferry to Pt.
Bodet.
McGee keeps Tavern at Pt. Bodet and a Ferry down the Lake.
There is a Ferry from Coteau to Pt. Bodet.

MAP OF THE
RIVER ST. LAWRENCE
AND ADJACENT COUNTRY
From Williamsburg to Montreal.
FROM AN ORIGINAL DRAWING
IN THE
WAR DEPARTMENT.
Military and Topographical Atlas
By JOHN MELISH, 1815.
STRUTHERS & CO., ENGR’S, N.Y.

Wilkinson at New Orleans received Armstrong’s letter of March 10
214
only May 19, and started, June 10, for Washington, where he arrived July
31, having consumed the greater part of the summer in the journey. On
arriving at Washington, he found that Dearborn had been removed, and that
215
he was himself by seniority in command of the Ninth Military District.
This result of Dearborn’s removal was incalculably mischievous, for if its
effect on Wilkinson’s vanity was unfortunate, its influence on the army was
fatal. Almost every respectable officer of the old service regarded
Wilkinson with antipathy or contempt.
Armstrong’s ill-fortune obliged him also to place in the position of next
importance Wilkinson’s pronounced enemy, Wade Hampton. A major-
general was required to take command on Lake Champlain, and but one
officer of that rank claimed employment or could be employed; and Wade
216
Hampton was accordingly ordered to Plattsburg. Of all the major-
generals Hampton was probably the best; but his faults were serious. Proud
and sensitive even for a South Carolinian; irritable, often harsh, sometimes

217
unjust, but the soul of honor, Hampton was rendered wholly intractable
wherever Wilkinson was concerned, by the long-standing feud which had
218
made the two generals for years the heads of hostile sections in the army.
Hampton loathed Wilkinson. At the time of his appointment to command on
Lake Champlain he had no reason to expect that Wilkinson would be his
superior; but though willing and even wishing to serve under Dearborn, he
accepted only on the express understanding that his was a distinct and
219
separate command, and that his orders were to come directly from the
War Department. Only in case of a combined movement uniting different
armies, was he to yield to the rule of seniority. With that agreement he left
Washington, June 15, and assumed command, July 3, on Lake Champlain.
Nearly a month afterward Wilkinson arrived in Washington, and
reported at the War Department. By that time Armstrong had lost whatever
chance he previously possessed of drawing the army at Niagara back to a
position on the enemy’s line of supply. Three insuperable difficulties stood
in his way,—the season was too late; the army was too weak; and the
generals were incompetent. Armstrong found his generals the chief
immediate obstacle, and struggled perseveringly and good-humoredly to
overcome it. Wilkinson began, on arriving at Washington, by showing a
220
fancy for continuing the campaign at Niagara. Armstrong was obliged to
give an emphatic order, dated August 8, that Kingston should be the
primary object of the campaign, but he left Wilkinson at liberty to go there
221
by almost any route, even by way of Montreal. Disappointed at the outset
222
by finding Wilkinson slow to accept responsibility or decided views, he
was not better pleased when the new general began his duties in Military
District No. 9.
Wilkinson left Washington August 11, and no sooner did he reach
Albany than he hastened to write, August 16, two letters to General
Hampton, assuming that every movement of that general was directly
223
dependent on Wilkinson’s orders. Considering the relations between the
two men, these letters warranted the inference that Wilkinson intended to
drive Hampton out of his Military District, and if possible from the service.
Hampton instantly leaped to that conclusion, and wrote to Armstrong,
August 23, offering his resignation in case Wilkinson’s course was

224
authorized by government. Wilkinson also wrote to the secretary August
225
30, substantially avowing his object to be what Hampton supposed: —

“You have copies of my letters to Major-General Hampton, which
I know he has received, yet I have no answer. The reflection which
naturally occurs is that if I am authorized to command he is bound to
obey; and if he will not respect the obligation, he should be turned out
of the service.”

Armstrong pacified Hampton by promising once more that all his
orders and reports should pass through the Department. Hampton promised
to serve cordially and vigorously through the campaign, but he believed
himself intended for a sacrifice, and declared his intention of resigning as
226
soon as the campaign was ended. Wilkinson, after having at Albany
provoked this outburst, started for Sackett’s Harbor, where he arrived
August 20.
At Sackett’s Harbor Wilkinson found several general officers. Morgan
Lewis was there in command, Commodore Chauncey was there with his
fleet. Jacob Brown was also present by virtue of his recent appointment as
brigadier-general. The quartermaster-general, Robert Swartwout, a brother
of Burr’s friend who went to New Orleans, was posted there. Wilkinson
summoned these officers to a council of war August 26, which deliberated
on the different plans of campaign proposed to it, and unanimously decided
in favor of one called by Armstrong “No. 3 of the plans proposed by the
227 228
government.” As defined in Wilkinson’s language the scheme was—

“To rendezvous the whole of the troops on the Lake in this vicinity,
and in co-operation with our squadron to make a bold feint upon
Kingston, slip down the St. Lawrence, lock up the enemy in our rear to
starve or surrender, or oblige him to follow us without artillery,
baggage, or provisions, or eventually to lay down his arms; to sweep
the St. Lawrence of armed craft, and in concert with the division under
Major-General Hampton to take Montreal.”

Orders were given, August 25, for providing river transport for seven
thousand men, forty field-pieces, and twenty heavy guns, to be in readiness
229
by September 15.
The proposed expedition closely imitated General Amherst’s expedition
against Montreal in 1760, with serious differences of relative situation.
After Wolfe had captured Quebec and hardly twenty-five hundred French
troops remained to defend Montreal, in the month of July Amherst
descended the river from Lake Ontario with more than ten thousand men,
chiefly British veterans, capturing every fortified position as he went.
Wilkinson’s council of war proposed to descend the river in October or
November with seven thousand men, leaving a hostile fleet and fortresses in
their rear, and running past every fortified position to arrive in the heart of a
comparatively well populated country, held by a force greater than their
own, with Quebec to support it, while Wilkinson would have no certain
base of supplies, reinforcements, or path of escape. Knowledge of
Wilkinson’s favorite Quintus Curtius or of Armstrong’s familiar Jomini was
not required to satisfy any intelligent private, however newly recruited, that
under such circumstances the army would be fortunate to escape
230
destruction.
Wilkinson next went to Niagara, where he arrived September 4, and
where he found the army in a bad condition, with Boyd still in command,
but restrained by the President’s orders within a strict defensive. Wilkinson
remained nearly a month at Fort George making the necessary preparations
for a movement. He fell ill of fever, but returned October 2 to Sackett’s
Harbor, taking with him all the regular troops at Niagara. At that time
Chauncey again controlled the Lake.
Secretary Armstrong also came to Sackett’s Harbor, September 5, and
established the War Department at that remote point for nearly two
231
months. When Wilkinson arrived, October 2, Armstrong’s difficulties
began. Wilkinson, then fifty-six years old, was broken by the Lake fever.
“He was so much indisposed in mind and body,” according to Brigadier-
232
General Boyd, “that in any other service he would have perhaps been
superseded in his command.” According to Wilkinson’s story, he told
Secretary Armstrong that he was incapable of commanding the army, and
offered to retire from it; but the secretary said there was no one to take his

place, and he could not be spared. In private Armstrong was believed to
express himself more bluntly, and Wilkinson was told that the secretary
233
said: “I would feed the old man with pap sooner than leave him behind.”
Wilkinson’s debility did not prevent him from giving orders, or from
234
becoming jealous and suspicious of every one, but chiefly of Armstrong.
Whatever was suggested by Armstrong was opposed by Wilkinson. Before
returning to Sackett’s Harbor, October 4, Wilkinson favored an attack on
235
Kingston. On reaching Sackett’s Harbor, finding that Armstrong also
favored attacking Kingston, Wilkinson argued “against my own judgment”
236
in favor of passing Kingston and descending upon Montreal. Ten days
afterward Armstrong changed his mind. Yeo had succeeded in returning to
Kingston, bringing reinforcements.

“He will bring with him about fifteen hundred effectives,” wrote
237
Armstrong; “and thanks to the storm and our snail-like movements
down the Lake, they will be there before we can reach it. The
manœuvre intended is lost, so far as regards Kingston. What we now
do against that place must be done by hard blows, at some risk.”

Accordingly, October 19, Armstrong wrote to Wilkinson a letter
advising abandonment of the attack on Kingston, and an effort at “grasping
238
the safer and the greater object below.”

“I call it the safer and greater object, because at Montreal you find
the weaker place and the smaller force to encounter; at Montreal you
meet a fresh, unexhausted, efficient reinforcement of four thousand
men; at Montreal you approach your own resources, and establish
between you and them an easy and an expeditious intercourse; at
Montreal you occupy a point which must be gained in carrying your
attacks home to the purposes of the war, and which, if seized now, will
save one campaign; at Montreal you hold a position which completely
severs the enemy’s line of operations, which shuts up the Ottawa as
well as the St. Lawrence against him, and which while it restrains all
below, withers and perishes all above itself.”

As Armstrong veered toward Montreal Wilkinson turned decidedly
239
toward Kingston, and wrote the same day to the secretary a letter of
remonstrance, closing by a significant remark:—

“Personal considerations would make me prefer a visit to Montreal
to the attack of Kingston; but before I abandon this attack, which by
my instructions I am ordered to make, it is necessary to my justification
that you should by the authority of the President direct the operations
of the army under my command particularly against Montreal.”

The hint was strong that Wilkinson believed Armstrong to be trying to
evade responsibility, as Armstrong believed Wilkinson to be trying to shirk
it. Both insinuations were probably well-founded; neither Armstrong nor
Wilkinson expected to capture Kingston, and still less Montreal. Wilkinson
plainly said as much at the time. “I speak conjecturally,” he wrote; “but
should we surmount every obstacle in descending the river we shall
advance upon Montreal ignorant of the force arrayed against us, and in case
of misfortune, having no retreat, the army must surrender at discretion.”
Armstrong’s conduct was more extraordinary than Wilkinson’s, and could
not be believed except on his own evidence. He not only looked for no
capture of Montreal, but before writing his letter of October 19 to
Wilkinson, he had given orders for preparing winter quarters for the army
sixty or eighty miles above Montreal, and did this without informing
240
Wilkinson. In later years he wrote: —

“Suspecting early in October, from the lateness of the season, the
inclemency of the weather, and the continued indisposition of the
commanding general, that the campaign then in progress would
terminate as it did,—‘with the disgrace of doing nothing, but without
any material diminution of physical power,’—the Secretary of War,
then at Sackett’s Harbor, hastened to direct Major-General Hampton to
employ a brigade of militia attached to his command, in constructing as
many huts as would be sufficient to cover an army of ten thousand men
during the winter.”

The order dated October 16 and addressed to the quartermaster-
241
general, prescribed the cantonment of ten thousand men within the limits
of Canada, and plainly indicated the secretary’s expectation that the army
could not reach Montreal. In other ways Armstrong showed the same belief
more openly.
All the available troops on or near Lake Ontario were concentrated at
Sackett’s Harbor about the middle of October, and did not exceed seven
242
thousand effectives, or eight thousand men. “I calculate on six thousand
243
combatants,” wrote Wilkinson after starting, “exclusive of Scott and
Randolph, neither of whom will, I fear, be up in season.” The army was
divided into four brigades under Generals Boyd, Swartwout, Jacob Brown,
and Covington,—the latter a Maryland man, forty-five years old, who
entered the service in 1809 as lieutenant-colonel of dragoons. The brigades
of Boyd and Covington formed a division commanded by Major-General
Morgan Lewis. The second division was intended for Major-General
Hampton; a reserve under Colonel Macomb, and a park of artillery under
244
Brigadier-General Moses Porter, completed the organization.
The men were embarked in bateaux, October 17, at Henderson’s Bay,
to the westward of Sackett’s Harbor. The weather had been excessively
stormy, and continued so. The first resting-point to be reached was
Grenadier Island at the entrance of the St. Lawrence, only sixteen or
eighteen miles from the starting-point; but the bateaux were dispersed by
heavy gales of wind, October 18, 19, and 20, and the last detachments did
not reach Grenadier Island until November 3. “All our hopes have been
nearly blasted,” wrote Wilkinson October 24; but at length, November 5,
the expedition, numbering nearly three hundred boats, having safely entered
the river, began the descent from French Creek. That day they moved forty
miles, and halted about midnight six miles above Ogdensburg. The next day
was consumed in running the flotilla past Ogdensburg under the fire of the
British guns at Prescott. The boats floated down by night and the troops
marched by land. November 7 the army halted at the White House, about
twenty miles below Ogdensburg. There Wilkinson called a council of war,
November 8, to consider whether the expedition should proceed. Lewis,
Boyd, Brown, and Swartwout voted simply in favor of attacking Montreal.

Covington and Porter were of the opinion “that we proceed from this place
245
under great danger, ... but ... we know of no other alternative.”
More than any other cause, Armstrong’s conduct warranted Wilkinson
in considering the campaign at an end. If the attack on Montreal was
seriously intended, every motive required Armstrong to join Hampton at
once in advance of Wilkinson’s expedition. No one knew so well as he the
necessity of some authority to interpose between the tempers and
pretensions of these two men in case a joint campaign were to be attempted,
or to enforce co-operation on either side. Good faith toward Hampton, even
more than toward Wilkinson, required that the secretary who had led them
into such a situation should not desert them. Yet Armstrong, after waiting
till Wilkinson was fairly at Grenadier Island, began to prepare for return to
Washington. From the village of Antwerp, half way between Sackett’s
Harbor and Ogdensburg, the secretary wrote to Wilkinson, October 27,
“Should my fever continue I shall not be able to approach you as I
246
intended.” Three days later he wrote again from Denmark on the road to
Albany,—

“I rejoice that your difficulties are so far surmounted as to enable
you to say with assurance when you will pass Prescott. I should have
met you there; but bad roads, worse weather, and a considerable degree
of illness admonished me against receding farther from a point where
my engagements call me about the 1st proximo. The resolution of
247
treading back my steps was taken at Antwerp.”

From Albany Armstrong wrote, November 12, for the last time, “in the
248
fulness of my faith that you are in Montreal,” that he had sent orders to
Hampton to effect a junction with the river expedition. Such letters and
orders, whatever Armstrong meant by them, were certain to impress both
Wilkinson and Hampton with a conviction that the secretary intended to
throw upon them the whole responsibility for the failure of an expedition
which he as well as they knew to be hopeless.
Doubtless a vigorous general might still have found means if not to
take Montreal, at least to compel the British to evacuate Upper Canada; but

Wilkinson was naturally a weak man, and during the descent of the river he
was excessively ill, never able to make a great exertion. Every day his
difficulties increased. Hardly had his flotilla begun its descent, when a
number of British gunboats commanded by Captain Mulcaster, the most
energetic officer in the British naval service on the Lake, slipping through
Chauncey’s blockade, appeared in Wilkinson’s rear, and caused him much
annoyance. Eight hundred British rank-and-file from Kingston and Prescott
were with Mulcaster, and at every narrow pass of the river, musketry and
artillery began to open on Wilkinson from the British bank. Progress
became slow. November 7, Macomb was landed on the north bank with
249
twelve hundred men to clear away these obstructions. The day and night
of November 8 were consumed at the White House in passing troops across
the river. Brown’s brigade was landed on the north shore to reinforce
Macomb. The boats were delayed to keep pace with Brown’s march on
shore, and made but eleven miles November 9, and the next day, November
10, fell down only to the Long Saut, a continuous rapid eight miles in
length. The enemy pressed close, and while Brown marched in advance to
clear the bank along the rapid, Boyd was ordered to take all the other troops
and protect the rear.
The flotilla stopped on the night of November 10 near a farm called
Chrystler’s on the British bank; and the next morning, November 11, at
half-past ten o’clock Brown having announced that all was clear below,
Wilkinson was about to order the flotilla to run the rapids when General
Boyd sent word that the enemy in the rear were advancing in column.
250
Wilkinson was on his boat, unable to leave his bed; Morgan Lewis was
in no better condition; and Boyd was left to fight a battle as he best could.
Boyd never had the confidence of the army; Brown was said to have
251
threatened to resign rather than serve under him, and Winfield Scott, who
252
was that day with Macomb and Brown in the advance, described Boyd as
amiable and respectable in a subordinate position, but “vacillating and
imbecile beyond all endurance as a chief under high responsibilities.”
The opportunity to capture or destroy Mulcaster and his eight hundred
men was brilliant, and warranted Wilkinson in turning back his whole force
to accomplish it. Boyd actually employed three brigades, and made an
obstinate but not united or well-supported attempt to crush the enemy.

Colonel Ripley with the Twenty-first regiment drove in the British
skirmishers, and at half-past two o’clock the battle became general. At half-
past four, after a stubborn engagement, General Covington was killed; his
brigade gave way, and the whole American line fell back, beaten and almost
routed.
This defeat was the least creditable of the disasters suffered by
American arms during the war. No excuse or palliation was ever offered for
253
it. The American army consisted wholly of regulars, and all the generals
belonged to the regular service. Wilkinson could hardly have had less than
three thousand men with him, after allowing for his detachments, and was
alone to blame if he had not more. Boyd, according to his own account, had
more than twelve hundred men and two field-pieces under his immediate
254
command on shore. The reserve, under Colonel Upham of the Eleventh
255
regiment, contained six hundred rank-and-file, with four field-pieces.
Wilkinson’s official report admitted that eighteen hundred rank-and-file
were engaged; Colonel Walbach, his adjutant-general, admitted two
256
thousand, while Swartwout thought that twenty-one hundred were in
action. The American force was certainly not less than two thousand, with
six field-pieces.
The British force officially reported by Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison of
the Eighty-ninth regiment, who was in command, consisted of eight
hundred rank-and-file, and thirty Indians. The rank-and-file consisted of
three hundred and forty-two men of the Forty-ninth regiment, about as
many more of the Eighty-ninth, and some Canadian troops. They had three
six-pound field-pieces, and were supported on their right flank by
257
gunboats.
On the American side the battle was ill fought both by the generals and
by the men. Wilkinson and Morgan Lewis, the two major-generals, who
were ill on their boats, never gave an order. Boyd, who commanded,
brought his troops into action by detachments, and the men, on meeting
unexpected resistance, broke and fled. The defeat was bloody as well as
mortifying. Wilkinson reported one hundred and two killed, and two
258
hundred and thirty-seven wounded, but strangely reported no missing,
although the British occupied the field of battle, and claimed upward of one

259
hundred prisoners. Morrison reported twenty-two killed, one hundred
and forty-eight wounded, and twelve missing. The American loss was twice
that of the British, and Wilkinson’s reports were so little to be trusted that
the loss might well have been greater than he represented it. The story had
no redeeming incident.
If three brigades, numbering two thousand men, were beaten at
Chrystler’s farm by eight hundred British and Canadians, the chance that
Wilkinson could capture Montreal, even with ten thousand men, was small.
The conduct of the army showed its want of self-confidence. Late as it was,
in the dusk of the evening Boyd hastened to escape across the river. “The
260
troops being much exhausted,” reported Wilkinson, “it was considered
most convenient that they should embark, and that the dragoons with the
artillery should proceed by land. The embarkation took place without the
smallest molestation from the enemy, and the flotilla made a harbor near the
head of the Saut on the opposite shore.” In truth, neither Wilkinson nor his
261
adjutant gave the order of embarkation, nor was Boyd willing to admit it
262
as his. Apparently the army by common consent embarked without
orders.
Early the next morning, November 12, the flotilla ran the rapids and
rejoined Brown and Macomb near Cornwall, where Wilkinson learned that
General Hampton had taken the responsibility of putting an end to an
undertaking which had not yet entered upon its serious difficulties.
Four months had passed since Hampton took command on Lake
Champlain. When he first reached Burlington, July 3, neither men nor
material were ready, nor was even a naval force present to cover his
weakness. While he was camped at Burlington, a British fleet, with about a
thousand regulars, entered the Lake from the Isle aux Noix and the
Richelieu River, and plundered the American magazines at Plattsburg, July
263
31, sweeping the Lake clear of American shipping. Neither Hampton’s
army nor McDonough’s small fleet ventured to offer resistance. Six weeks
afterward, in the middle of September, Hampton had but about four
thousand men, in bad condition and poor discipline.
Wilkinson, though unable to begin his own movement, was earnest that
264
Hampton should advance on Montreal. Apparently in order to assist

Wilkinson’s plans, Hampton moved his force, September 19, to the Canada
line. Finding that a drought had caused want of water on the direct road to
Montreal, Hampton decided to march his army westward to the Chateaugay
River, forty or fifty miles, and established himself there, September 26, in a
position equally threatening to Montreal and to the British line of
265
communication up the St. Lawrence. Armstrong approved the movement,
and Hampton remained three weeks at Chateaugay, building roads and
opening lines of communication while waiting for Wilkinson to move.
October 16 Armstrong ordered Hampton, in view of Wilkinson’s
probable descent of the river, to “approach the mouth of the Chateaugay, or
other point which shall better favor our junction, and hold the enemy in
266
check.” Hampton instantly obeyed, and moved down the Chateaugay to a
point about fifteen miles from its mouth. There he established his army,
October 22, and employed the next two days in completing his road, and
getting up his artillery and stores.
Hampton’s movements annoyed the British authorities at Montreal.
Even while he was still within American territory, before he advanced from
Chateaugay Four Corners, Sir George Prevost reported, October 8, to his
267
government, —

“The position of Major-General Hampton at the Four Corners on
the Chateaugay River, and which he continued to occupy, either with
the whole or a part of his force, from the latest information I have been
able to obtain from thence, is highly judicious,—as at the same time
that he threatens Montreal and obliges me to concentrate a considerable
body of troops in this vicinity to protect it, he has it in his power to
molest the communication with the Upper Province, and impede the
progress of the supplies required there for the Navy and Army.”

If this was the case, October 8, when Hampton was still at Chateaugay,
fifty miles from its mouth, the annoyance must have been much greater
when he advanced, October 21, to Spear’s, within ten miles of the St.
Lawrence on his left, and fifteen from the mouth of the Chateaugay.
Hampton accomplished more than was expected. He held a position equally

well adapted to threaten Montreal, to disturb British communication with
Upper Canada, and to succor Wilkinson.
That Hampton, with only four thousand men, should do more than this,
could not fairly be required. The defences of Montreal were such as
required ten times his force to overcome. The regular troops defending
Montreal were not stationed in the town itself, which was sufficiently
protected by a broad river and rapids. They were chiefly at Chambly, St.
John’s, Isle aux Noix, or other points on the Richelieu River, guarding the
most dangerous line of approach from Lake Champlain; or they were at
Coteau du Lac on the St. Lawrence about twenty miles northwest of
Hampton’s position. According to the general weekly return of British
forces serving in the Montreal District under command of Major-General
Sir R. H. Sheaffe, Sept. 15, 1813, the aggregate rank-and-file present for
duty was five thousand seven hundred and fifty-two. At Montreal were
none but sick, with the general staff. At Chambly were nearly thirteen
hundred effectives; at St. John’s nearly eight hundred; at Isle aux Noix
about nine hundred. Excluding the garrison at Prescott, and including the
force at Coteau du Lac, Major-General Sheaffe commanded just five
268
thousand effectives.
Besides the enrolled troops, Prevost could muster a considerable
number of sailors and marines for the defence of Montreal; and his
resources in artillery, boats, fortifications, and supplies of all sorts were
ample. In addition to the embodied troops, Prevost could count upon the
militia, a force almost as good as regulars for the defence of a forest-clad
country where axes were as effective as musketry in stopping an invading
army. In Prevost’s letter to Bathurst of October 8, announcing Hampton’s
invasion, the governor-general said:—

“Measures had been in the mean time taken by Major-General Sir
Roger Sheaffe commanding in this district, to resist the advance of the
enemy by moving the whole of the troops under his command nearer to
the frontier line, and by calling out about three thousand of the
sedentary militia. I thought it necessary to increase this latter force to
nearly eight thousand by embodying the whole of the sedentary militia
upon the frontier, this being in addition to the six battalions of
incorporated militia amounting to five thousand men; and it is with

peculiar satisfaction I have to report to your Lordship that his Majesty’s
Canadian subjects have a second time answered the call to arms in
defence of their country with a zeal and alacrity beyond all praise.”

Thus the most moderate estimate of the British force about Montreal
269
gave at least fifteen thousand rank-and-file under arms. Besides this large
array of men, Prevost was amply protected by natural defences. If Hampton
had reached the St. Lawrence at Caughnawaga, he would still have been
obliged to cross the St. Lawrence, more than two miles wide, under the fire
of British batteries and gunboats. Hampton had no transports. Prevost had
bateaux and vessels of every description, armed and unarmed, above and
below the rapids, besides two river steamers constantly plying to Quebec.
Hampton’s command consisted of four thousand infantry new to
270
service, two hundred dragoons, and artillery. With such a force, his
chance of suffering a fatal reverse was much greater than that of his
reaching the St. Lawrence. His position at the Chateaugay was not less
perilous than that of Harrison on the Maumee, and far more so than that
which cost Dearborn so many disasters at Niagara.
The British force in Hampton’s immediate front consisted at first of
only three hundred militia, who could make no resistance, and retired as
Hampton advanced. When Hampton made his movement to Spear’s,
Lieutenant-Colonel de Salaberry in his front commanded about eight
hundred men, and immediately entrenched himself and obstructed the road
271
with abattis. Hampton felt the necessity of dislodging Salaberry, who
might at any moment be reinforced; and accordingly, in the night of
October 25, sent a strong force to flank Salaberry’s position, while he
should himself attack it in front.
The flanking party failed to find its way, and the attack in front was not
272
pressed. The American loss did not exceed fifty men. The British loss
was reported as twenty-five. Sir George Prevost and his officers were
273
greatly pleased by their success; but Prevost did not attempt to molest
Hampton, who fell back by slow marches to Chateaugay, where he waited
to hear from the Government. The British generals at Montreal showed little
energy in thus allowing Hampton to escape; and the timidity of their

attitude before Hampton’s little army was the best proof of the
incompetence alleged against Prevost by many of his contemporaries.
Hampton’s retreat was due more to the conduct of Armstrong than to
the check at Spear’s or to the movements of Prevost. At the moment when
he moved against Salaberry, October 25, a messenger arrived from
Sackett’s Harbor, bringing instructions from the quartermaster-general for
building huts for ten thousand men for winter quarters. These orders
naturally roused Hampton’s suspicions that no serious movement against
Montreal was intended.

“The papers sunk my hopes,” he wrote to Armstrong, November
274
1, “and raised serious doubts of receiving that efficacious support
that had been anticipated. I would have recalled the column, but it was
in motion, and the darkness of the night rendered it impracticable.”

275
In a separate letter of the same date which Hampton sent to
Armstrong by Colonel King, assuming that the campaign was at an end, he
carried out his declared purpose of resigning. “Events,” he said, “have had
no tendency to change my opinion of the destiny intended for me, nor my
determination to retire from a service where I can neither feel security nor
expect honor. The campaign I consider substantially at an end.” The
implication that Armstrong meant to sacrifice him was certainly
disrespectful, and deserved punishment; but when Colonel King, bearing
these letters, arrived in the neighborhood of Ogdensburg, he found that
Armstrong had already done what Hampton reproached him for intending
to do. He had retired to Albany, “suspecting ... that the campaign ... would
terminate as it did.”
A week afterward, November 8, Hampton received a letter from
Wilkinson, written from Ogdensburg, asking him to forward supplies and
276
march his troops to some point of junction on the river below St. Regis.
Hampton replied from Chateaugay that he had no supplies to forward; and
as, under such circumstances, his army could not throw itself on
Wilkinson’s scanty means, he should fall back on Plattsburg, and attempt to
277
act against the enemy on some other road to be indicated. Wilkinson

received the letter on his arrival at Cornwall, November 12, the day after his
defeat at Chrystler’s farm; and with extraordinary energy moved the whole
expedition the next day to French Mills, six or seven miles up the Salmon
River, within the United States lines, where it went into winter quarters.
Armstrong and Wilkinson made common cause in throwing upon
Hampton the blame of failure. Wilkinson at first ordered Hampton under
arrest, but after reflection decided to throw the responsibility upon
278
Armstrong. The secretary declined to accept it, but consented after some
delay to accept Hampton’s resignation when renewed in March, 1814.
Wilkinson declared that Hampton’s conduct had blasted his dawning hopes
279
and the honor of the army. Armstrong sneered at Wilkinson for seizing
280
the pretext for abandoning his campaign. Both the generals believed that
Armstrong had deliberately led them into an impossible undertaking, and
281
deserted them, in order to shift the blame of failure from himself.
Hampton behaved with dignity, and allowed his opinion to be seen only in
his contemptuous silence; nor did Armstrong publicly blame Hampton’s
conduct until Hampton was dead. The only happy result of the campaign
was to remove all the older generals—Wilkinson, Hampton, and Morgan
Lewis—from active service.
The bloodless failure of an enterprise which might have ended in
extreme disaster was not the whole cost of Armstrong’s and Wilkinson’s
friendship and quarrels. In November nearly all the regular forces, both
British and American, had been drawn toward the St. Lawrence. Even
Harrison and his troops, who reached Buffalo October 24, were sent to
Sackett’s Harbor, November 16, to protect the navy. Not a regiment of the
United States army was to be seen between Sackett’s Harbor and Detroit.
The village of Niagara and Fort George on the British side were held by a
few hundred volunteers commanded by Brigadier-General McClure of the
New York militia. As long as Wilkinson and Hampton threatened Montreal,
Niagara was safe, and needed no further attention.
After November 13, when Wilkinson and Hampton withdrew from
Canada, while the American army forgot its enemy in the bitterness of its
own personal feuds, the British generals naturally thought of recovering
their lost posts on the Niagara River. McClure, who occupied Fort George
and the small town of Newark under its guns, saw his garrison constantly

282
diminishing. Volunteers refused to serve longer on any conditions. The
War Department ordered no reinforcements, although ten or twelve
thousand soldiers were lying idle at French Mills and Plattsburg. December
10 McClure had about sixty men of the Twenty-fourth infantry, and some
forty volunteers, at Fort George, while the number of United States troops
present for duty at Fort George, Fort Niagara, Niagara village, Black Rock,
and Buffalo, to protect the people and the magazines, amounted to four
companies, or three hundred and twenty-four men.
As early as October 4, Armstrong authorized McClure to warn the
inhabitants of Newark that their town might suffer destruction in case the
283
defence of Fort George should render such a measure proper. No other
orders were given, but Wilkinson repeatedly advised that Fort George
284
should be evacuated, and Armstrong did nothing to protect it, further
than to issue a requisition from Albany, November 25, upon the Governor
285
of New York for one thousand militia.
The British, though not rapid in their movements, were not so slow as
the Americans. Early in December Lieutenant-General Gordon Drummond
came from Kingston to York, and from York to the head of the Lake where
the British had maintained themselves since losing the Niagara posts in
May. Meanwhile General Vincent had sent Colonel Murray with five
hundred men to retake Fort George. McClure at Fort George, December 10,
hearing that Murray had approached within ten miles, evacuated the post
and crossed the river to Fort Niagara; but before doing so he burned the
town of Newark and as much as he could of Queenston, turning the
inhabitants, in extreme cold, into the open air. He alleged as his motive the
286
wish to deprive the enemy of winter quarters; yet he did not destroy the
287
tents or military barracks, and he acted without authority, for Armstrong
Had authorized him to burn Newark only in case he meant to defend Fort
George.

“The enemy is much exasperated, and will make a descent on this
frontier if possible,” wrote McClure from the village of Niagara,
December 13; “but I shall watch them close with my handful of men
until a reinforcement of militia and volunteers arrives.... I am not a

little apprehensive that the enemy will take advantage of the exposed
condition of Buffalo and our shipping there. My whole effective force
on this extensive frontier does not exceed two hundred and fifty men.”

Five days passed, and still no reinforcements arrived, and no regular
troops were even ordered to start for Niagara. “I apprehended an attack,”
288
wrote McClure; and he retired thirty miles to Buffalo, “with a view of
providing for the defence.” On the night of December 18 Colonel Murray,
with five hundred and fifty regular rank-and-file, crossed the river from
Fort George unperceived; surprised the sentinels on the glacis and at the
gates of Fort Niagara; rushed through the main gate; and, with a loss of
eight men killed and wounded, captured the fortress with some three
hundred and fifty prisoners.
Nothing could be said on the American side in defence or excuse of this
disgrace. From Armstrong at the War Department to Captain Leonard who
commanded the fort, every one concerned in the transaction deserved
whatever punishment the law or army regulations could inflict. The
unfortunate people of Niagara and Buffalo were victims to official
misconduct. The British, thinking themselves released from ordinary rules
of war by the burning of Newark and Queenston, showed unusual ferocity.
In the assault on Fort Niagara they killed sixty-seven Americans, all by the
bayonet, while they wounded only eleven. Immediately afterward they “let
289
loose” their auxiliary Indians on Lewiston and the country around. On
the night of December 29, Lieutenant-General Drummond sent a force of
290
fifteen hundred men including Indians across the river above the falls,
and driving away the militia, burned Black Rock and Buffalo with all their
291
public stores and three small war-schooners.
These acts of retaliation were justified by Sir George Prevost in a long
292
proclamation dated Jan. 12, 1814, which promised that he would not
“pursue further a system of warfare so revolting to his own feelings and so
little congenial to the British character unless the future measures of the
enemy should compel him again to resort to it.” The Americans themselves
bore Drummond’s excessive severity with less complaint than usual. They
partly suspected that the destruction effected on the Thames, at York and at

Newark, by American troops, though unauthorized by orders, had warranted
some retaliation; but they felt more strongly that their anger should properly
be vented on their own government and themselves, who had allowed a
handful of British troops to capture a strong fortress and to ravage thirty
miles of frontier, after repeated warning, without losing two hundred men
on either side, while thousands of regular troops were idle elsewhere, and
the neighborhood ought without an effort to have supplied five thousand
militia.
Fort Niagara, which thus fell into British hands, remained, like
Mackinaw, in the enemy’s possession until the peace.

CHAPTER IX.
Military movements in the Southern department attracted little notice,
but were not the less important. The Southern people entered into the war in
the hope of obtaining the Floridas. President Madison, like President
Jefferson, gave all the support in his power to the scheme. Throughout the
year 1812 United States troops still occupied Amelia Island and the St.
Mary’s River, notwithstanding the refusal of Congress to authorize the
occupation. The President expected Congress at the session of 1812–1813
to approve the seizure of both Floridas, and took measures in advance for
that purpose.
October 12, 1812, Secretary Eustis wrote to the Governor of Tennessee
calling out fifteen hundred militia for the defence of the “lower country.”
The force was not intended for defence but for conquest; it was to support
the seizure of Mobile, Pensacola, and St. Augustine by the regular troops.
For that object every man in Tennessee was ready to serve; and of all
Tennesseeans, Andrew Jackson was the most ardent. Governor Blount
immediately authorized Jackson, as major-general of the State militia, to
call out two thousand volunteers. The call was issued November 14; the
volunteers collected at Nashville December 10; and Jan. 7, 1813, the
infantry embarked in boats to descend the river, while the mounted men
rode through the Indian country to Natchez.

“I have the pleasure to inform you,” wrote Jackson to Eustis in
293
departing, “that I am now at the head of two thousand and seventy
volunteers, the choicest of our citizens, who go at the call of their
country to execute the will of the Government; who have no
Constitutional scruples, and if the Government orders, will rejoice at
the opportunity of placing the American eagle on the ramparts of
Mobile, Pensacola, and Fort St. Augustine.”

The Tennessee army reached Natchez, February 15, and went into
camp to wait orders from Washington, which were expected to direct an
advance on Mobile and Pensacola.
While Jackson descended the Mississippi, Monroe, then acting
294
Secretary of War, wrote, January 13, to Major-General Pinckney, whose
military department included Georgia: “It is intended to place under your
command an adequate force for the reduction of St. Augustine should it be
decided on by Congress, before whom the subject will be in a few days.” A
295
fortnight later, January 30, Monroe wrote also to Wilkinson, then
commanding at New Orleans: “The subject of taking possession of West
Florida is now before Congress, and will probably pass. You will be
prepared to carry into effect this measure should it be decided on.”
Neither Madison nor Monroe raised objection to the seizure of territory
belonging to a friendly power; but Congress showed no such readiness to
296
act. Senator Anderson of Tennessee, as early as Dec. 10, 1812, moved, in
secret session of the Senate, that a committee be appointed to consider the
expediency of authorizing the President “to occupy and hold the whole or
any part of East Florida, including Amelia Island, and also those parts of
West Florida which are not now in the possession and under the jurisdiction
of the United States.” After much debate the Senate, December 22, adopted
the resolution by eighteen votes to twelve, and the committee, consisting of
Anderson, Samuel Smith, Tait of Georgia, Varnum of Massachusetts, and
297
Goodrich of Connecticut, reported a bill, January 19, authorizing the
President to occupy both Floridas, and to exercise government there,
“provided ... that the section of country herein designated that is situated to
the eastward of the river Perdido may be the subject of future negotiation.”
The bill met opposition from the President’s personal enemies, Giles,
Leib, and Samuel Smith, as well as from the Federalists and some of the
Northern Democrats. January 26, Samuel Smith moved to strike out the
second section, which authorized the seizure of Florida east of the Perdido;
and the Senate, February 2, by a vote of nineteen to sixteen, adopted
Smith’s motion. The vote was sectional. North and South Carolina, Georgia,
Tennessee, and Louisiana supported the bill; Maryland, Delaware,
Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, and Rhode Island opposed it;
Virginia, Kentucky, Ohio, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Vermont

were divided; New Jersey threw one vote in its favor, the second senator
being absent. Had Leib not changed sides the next day, the whole bill would
have been indefinitely postponed; but the majority rallied, February 5, and
by a vote of twenty-one to eleven authorized the President to seize Florida
west of the Perdido, or, in other words, to occupy Mobile. The House
passed the bill in secret session February 9, and the President signed it
298
February 12.
In refusing to seize East Florida, the Senate greatly disarranged
Madison’s plans. Three days afterward, February 5, Armstrong took charge
of the War Department, and his first orders were sent to Andrew Jackson
directing him to dismiss his force, “the causes of embodying and marching
299
to New Orleans the corps under your command having ceased to exist.”
Jackson, ignorant that the Administration was not to blame, and indignant at
his curt dismissal, marched his men back to Tennessee, making himself
responsible for their pay and rations. On learning these circumstances,
Armstrong wrote, March 22, a friendly letter thanking him for the important
services his corps would have rendered “had the Executive policy of
300
occupying the two Floridas been adopted by the national legislature.”
After the Senate had so persistently refused to support Madison’s
occupation of East Florida, he could hardly maintain longer the illegal
possession he had held during the past year of Amelia Island. February 15,
301
Armstrong wrote to Major-General Pinckney, “The late private
proceedings of Congress have resulted in a decision not to invade East
Florida at present;” but not until March 7, did the secretary order Pinckney
302
to withdraw the troops from Amelia Island and Spanish territory.
The troops were accordingly withdrawn from Amelia Island, May 16;
but nothing could restore East Florida to its former repose, and the anarchy
which had been introduced from the United States could never be mastered
except by the power that created it. Perhaps Madison would have retained
possession, as the least of evils, in spite of the Senate’s vote of February 3,
had not another cause, independent of legislative will, overcome his
repugnance to the evacuation. The Russian offer of mediation arrived while
the President was still in doubt. The occupation of Florida, being an act of
war against Spain, could not fail to excite the anger of England, and in that

feeling of displeasure the Czar must inevitably share. From the moment
their cause against Napoleon was common, Russia, England, and Spain
were more than likely to act together in resistance to any territorial
aggression upon any member of their alliance, the evacuation of East
Florida by the United States evaded a serious diplomatic difficulty; and
probably not by mere coincidence, Armstrong’s order to evacuate Amelia
Island was dated March 7, while Daschkoff’s letter offering the Czar’s
mediation was dated March 8.
The Cabinet was so little united in support of the Executive policy that
Madison and Monroe ordered the seizure of Mobile without consulting
Gallatin, whose persistent hostility to the Florida intrigues was notorious.
When Monroe in April gave to Gallatin and Bayard the President’s
303
instructions for the peace negotiations, among the rest he directed them
to assert “a right to West Florida by cession from France, and a claim to
East Florida as an indemnity for spoliations.” On receiving these
304
instructions, Gallatin wrote to Monroe, May 2, asking, —

“Where is the importance of taking possession of Mobile this
summer? We may do this whenever we please, and is it not better to
delay every operation of minor importance which may have a tendency
to impede our negotiations with Great Britain and Russia? You know
that to take by force any place in possession of another nation,
whatever our claim to that place may be, is war; and you must be aware
that both Russia and Great Britain will feel disposed, if not to support
the pretensions of Spain against us, at least to take part against the
aggressor.”

305
Monroe quickly replied: “With respect to West Florida, possession
will be taken of it before you get far on your voyage. That is a question
settled.” In fact, possession had been taken of it three weeks before he
wrote, in pursuance of orders sent in February, apparently without
Gallatin’s knowledge. Monroe added views of his own, singularly opposed
to Gallatin’s convictions.

“On the subject of East Florida,” wrote Monroe to Gallatin, May
306
6, “I think I intimated to you in my last that Colonel Lear was under
the most perfect conviction, on the authority of information from
respectable sources at Cadiz, that the Spanish regency had sold that and
the other province to the British government, and that it had done so
under a belief that we had, or should soon get, possession of it. My
firm belief is that if we were possessed of both, it would facilitate your
negotiations in favor of impressment and every other object, especially
if it was distinctly seen by the British ministers or minister that, instead
of yielding them or any part of either, we would push our fortunes in
that direction, and in Canada, if they did not hasten to accommodate.”

Gallatin, on the eve of sailing for Russia, replied with good temper,
expressing opinions contrary to those of the President and Secretary of
State.

307
“On the subject of Florida,” Gallatin said, “I have always
differed in opinion with you, and am rejoiced to have it in our power to
announce the evacuation of the province. Let it alone until you shall,
by the introduction of British troops, have a proof of the supposed
cession. In this I do not believe. It can be nothing more than a
permission to occupy it in order to defend it for Spain. By withdrawing
our troops, we withdraw the pretence; but the impolitic occupancy of
Mobile will, I fear, renew our difficulties. The object is at present of
very minor importance, swelled into consequence by the
representations from that quarter, and which I would not at this
moment have attempted, among other reasons, because it was a
Southern one, and will, should it involve us in a war with Spain,
disgust every man north of Washington. You will pardon the freedom
with which, on the eve of parting with you, I speak on this subject. It is
intended as a general caution, which I think important, because I know
and see every day the extent of geographical feeling, and the necessity
of prudence if we mean to preserve and invigorate the Union.”

No sooner did the Act of February 12 become law than Armstrong
wrote, February 16, to Wilkinson at New Orleans, enclosing a copy of the

Act, and ordering him immediately to take possession of Mobile and the
308
country as far as the Perdido. Wilkinson, who had for years looked
forward to that step, hastened to obey the instruction. When Gallatin
remonstrated, the measure had been already taken and could not be recalled.
Since July 9, 1812, Wilkinson had again commanded at New Orleans.
No immediate attack was to be feared, nor could a competent British force
be collected there without warning; but in case such an attack should be
made, Wilkinson had reason to fear the result, for his regular force
consisted of only sixteen hundred effectives, ill equipped and without
309
defences. The War Department ordered him to depend on movable
310
ordnance and temporary works rather than on permanent fortifications;
but with his usual disregard of orders he began the construction or the
completion of extensive works at various points on the river and coast, at a
cost which the government could ill afford.
While engaged in this task Wilkinson received, March 14, Armstrong’s
order of February 16 for the invasion of West Florida. When the
government’s orders were agreeable to Wilkinson, they reached him
promptly and were executed with rapidity. Within three weeks he collected
at Pass Christian a force of about six hundred men, supported by gunboats,
and entered the Bay of Mobile on the night of April 10, while at the same
time the garrison at Fort Stoddert descended the Tensaw River, and cut the
communication by land between Mobile and Pensacola. At that time Mobile
Point was undefended. The only Spanish fortress was Fort Charlotte at
Mobile, garrisoned by one hundred and fifty combatants. Wilkinson
summoned the fort to surrender, and the commandant had no choice but to
obey, for the place was untenable and without supplies. The surrender took
place April 15. Wilkinson then took possession of the country as far as the
Perdido, and began the construction of a fort, to be called Fort Bowyer, on
Mobile Point at the entrance of the Bay, some sixty miles below the
311
town.
This conquest, the only permanent gain of territory made during the
war, being effected without bloodshed, attracted less attention than it
deserved. Wilkinson committed no errors, and won the President’s warm
312
approval. Wilkinson was greatly pleased by his own success, and wished

to remain at New Orleans to carry out his projected defences; but
Armstrong had written as early as March 10, ordering him to the Lakes. As
so often happened with orders that displeased the general, Armstrong’s
letter, though dated March 10, and doubtless arriving in New Orleans before
April 10, was received by Wilkinson only on his return, May 19. After
another delay of three weeks, he started northward, and travelled by way of
Mobile through the Creek country to Washington.
Wilkinson’s departure, June 10, and the evacuation of Amelia Island by
General Pinckney May 16, closed the first chapter of the war in the South.
313
Armstrong wrote to Wilkinson, May 27: “The mission to Petersburg and
the instructions to our envoys will put a barrier between you and Pensacola
for some time to come at least, and permanently in case of peace.” The
sudden stop thus put by the Senate and the Russian mediation to the
campaign against Pensacola and St. Augustine deranged the plans of
Georgia and Tennessee, arrested the career of Andrew Jackson, and caused
the transfer of Wilkinson from New Orleans to the Lakes. The government
expected no other difficulties in the Southern country, and had no reason to
fear them. If new perils suddenly arose, they were due less to England,
Spain, or the United States than to the chance that gave energy and
influence to Tecumthe.

(Larger)

MAP OF THE
Seat of War among the
Creek Indians.
From the Original Drawing
IN THE
WAR DEPARTMENT.
Published by John Melish,
1815.

The Southern Indians were more docile and less warlike than the
Indians of the Lakes. The Chickasaws and Choctaws, who occupied the
whole extent of country on the east bank of the Mississippi River from the
Ohio to the Gulf, gave little trouble or anxiety; and even the great
confederacy of Muskogees, or Creeks, who occupied the territory afterward
called the State of Alabama and part of Georgia, fell in some degree into a
mode of life which seemed likely to make them tillers of the soil. In 1800
the Creeks held, or claimed, about three hundred miles square from the
Tennessee River to the Gulf, and from the middle of Georgia nearly to the
line which afterward marked the State of Mississippi. The Seminoles, or
wild men, of Florida were a branch of the Muskogees, and the Creek
warriors themselves were in the habit of visiting Pensacola and Mobile,
where they expected to receive presents from the Spanish governor.
Two thirds of the Creek towns were on the Coosa and Tallapoosa rivers
in the heart of Alabama. Their inhabitants were called Upper Creeks. The
Lower Creeks lived in towns on the Chattahooche River, the modern
boundary between Alabama and Georgia. The United States government,
following a different policy in 1799 from that of Jefferson toward the
Northwestern Indians, induced the Creeks to adopt a national organization
for police purposes; it also helped them to introduce ploughs, to learn
cotton-spinning, and to raise crops. The success of these experiments was
not at first great, for the larger number of Indians saw no advantage in
becoming laborers, and preferred sitting in the squares of the towns, or
hunting; but here and there chiefs or half-breeds had farms, slaves, stock,
orchards, and spinning-wheels.
Large as the Creek country was, and wild as it had ever been, it did not
abound in game. A good hunter, passing in any direction through the three
hundred miles of Alabama and Georgia, found difficulty in obtaining game
314
enough for his support. For that reason the Seminoles left their old towns
and became wild people, as their name implied, making irregular
settlements in Florida, where game and food were more plenty. The mass of
the Creek nation, fixed in the villages in the interior, clung to their habits of
hunting even when obliged to cultivate the soil, and their semi-civilization
rendered them a more perplexing obstacle to the whites than though they
had obstinately resisted white influence.

Had the Indian problem been left to the people of Georgia and
Tennessee, the Indians would soon have disappeared; but the national
government established under President Washington in 1789 put a sharp
curb on Georgia, and interposed decisively between the Georgians and the
315
Creeks. President Washington in 1796 appointed Benjamin Hawkins of
North Carolina as Indian agent among the Creeks, and Hawkins protected
and governed them with devotion; but the result of his friendliness was the
same as that of others’ greed. The Indians slowly lost ground.
The Creeks complained of grievances similar to those of the
Northwestern Indians, and their position was even more helpless. They had
no other outlet than Pensacola and Mobile. Except from the Spaniards they
could expect no aid in case of trouble, and the Spanish governors of Florida,
after the abdication of Carlos IV. in 1807, could scarcely maintain their own
position, much less supply the Creeks with arms or gunpowder. While the
Northwestern Indians could buy at Malden all the weapons and ammunition
they wanted, the Creeks possessed few firearms, and these in bad condition;
nor were they skilful in using guns.
The United States government prevented the Georgians from
compelling the Indians to sell their lands, but nothing could prevent them
from trespass; and the Indian woods along the frontier were filled with
cattle, horses, and hogs belonging to the whites, while white men destroyed
the game, hunting the deer by firelight, and scaring the Indian hunters from
their hunting-grounds. “Every cane-swamp where they go to look for a bear
—which is part of their support—is near eat out by the stocks put over by
316
the citizens of Georgia.” This complaint was made in 1796, and as time
went on the Indian hunting-grounds were more rapidly narrowed. Not only
from Georgia but also from Fort Stoddert, along the course of the
Tombigbee River, above Mobile, intruders pressed into the Creek country.
The Indians had no choice but to sell their lands for annuities, and under
this pressure the Creeks, in 1802 and 1803, were induced to part with the
district between the Oconee and Ocmulgee in the centre of Georgia. They
retained their towns on the Chattahoochee, where Hawkins’s agency was
established in the town of Coweta, on the edge of the Creek country.
Hawkins was satisfied with their behavior, and believed the chiefs to be
well disposed. They showed none of the restlessness which characterized

the Northwestern Indians, until Tecumthe conceived the idea of bringing
them into his general league to check the encroachments of the whites.
After Tecumthe’s interview with Governor Harrison at Vincennes, in July,
1811, he made a long journey through the Chickasaw and Choctaw country,
and arrived among the Creeks in October, bringing with him a score of
Indian warriors. The annual council of the Creeks was held in that month at
the village of Tuckaubatchee,—an ancient town of the Upper Creeks on the
Tallapoosa. The rumor that Tecumthe would be present brought great
numbers of Indians, even Cherokees and Choctaws, to the place, while
Hawkins attended the council in his character as agent.
Tecumthe and his warriors marched into the centre of the square and
took their places in silence. That night “they danced the dance of the
Indians of the Lakes,” which became thenceforward a political symbol of
their party among the Creeks. Some nights afterward Tecumthe addressed
the council. Versions more or less untrustworthy have been given of the
317
speech; but the only official allusion to it by a person entitled to credit
seemed to show that it was in substance the address made by Tecumthe at
Vincennes. Hawkins, recalling to the Creek chiefs in 1814 the course of
events which had caused their troubles, reminded them how “Tecumseh, in
the square of Tuckaubatchee, ... told the Creeks not to do any injury to the
Americans; to be in peace and friendship with them; not to steal even a bell
from any one of any color. Let the white people on this continent manage
their affairs their own way. Let the red people manage their affairs their
318
own way.” Hawkins and the old chiefs would have certainly interfered
had Tecumthe incited the Creeks to war or violence; but according to
Hawkins the speech was a pacific “talk,” delivered by Tecumthe in the
name of the British. Indian tradition preserved another form of Tecumthe’s
rhetoric, which seemed to complete the identity with the Vincennes address.
Unable to express himself in the Muskogee language, Tecumthe used
pantomime familiar to Indians. Holding his war-club with outstretched arm,
he opened first the little finger, then the next and the next, till the club fell
from his hand.
Indian union was unquestionably the chief theme of all Tecumthe’s
public addresses. Whether in private he taught other doctrines must be
matter of surmise; but he certainly brought into the Creek nation a religious
fanaticism of a peculiar and dangerous kind. Prophets soon appeared,

chiefly among the Alabamas, a remnant of an ancient race, not of Creek
319
blood, but members of the Creek confederacy. The prophets, with the
usual phenomena of hysteria, claimed powers of magic, and promised to
bring earthquakes to destroy an invading army. They preached the total
destruction of everything, animate and inanimate, that pertained to
civilization. As the nation generally was badly armed, and relied chiefly on
320
their bows, arrows, and war-clubs for battle, the moral support of magic
was needed to give them confidence.
So secret was the influence of Tecumthe’s friends that no suspicion of
the excitement reached Hawkins even when the war with England began;
and the old chiefs of the nation—known to be devoted to peace and to the
white alliance—were kept in ignorance of all that was done among the
young warriors. The Alabamas, or Coosadas, lived below the junction of the
Coosa and Tallapoosa, on the west bank of the Alabama River, about eight
miles above the modern town of Montgomery; they were considered by
Hawkins the most industrious and best behaved of all the Creeks, whose
fields were the granaries of the upper towns and furnished supplies even to
Mobile. Their town was the last place in which Hawkins expected to see
conspiracy, violence, or fanaticism. The young men “sang the song of the
Indians of the Lakes, and danced the dance” in secret for eighteen months
after Tecumthe’s visit, without public alarm, and probably would have
continued to do so except for an outbreak committed by some of their
nation three hundred miles away.
In 1812 a band of six Indians led by the Little Warrior of Wewocau, a
Creek town on the Coosa, was sent by the nation on a public mission to the
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Chickasaws. Instead of delivering their “talks” and returning, they
continued their journey to the northern Lakes and joined Tecumthe at
Malden. They took part in the massacre at the river Raisin, Jan. 22, 1813,
and soon afterward began their return, bringing talks from the Shawanese
and British and also a letter from some British officer at Malden to the
Spanish officials at Pensacola, from whom they hoped to obtain weapons
and powder. According to common report, Tecumthe told the Little Warrior
that he was about to aid the British in capturing Fort Meigs, and as soon as
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the fort was taken he would come to join the Creeks. Until then his

friends were to increase their party by the secret means and magic that had
323
proved so successful, but were not to begin open war.
The Little Warrior and his party, including a warrior from Tuskegee, a
Creek town at the fork of the Coosa and Tallapoosa, after crossing Indiana
in the month of February reached the north bank of the Ohio River about
seven miles above its mouth, where were two cabins occupied by white
324
families. Unable to resist the temptation to spill blood, the band
murdered the two families with the usual Indian horrors. This outrage was
committed February 9; and the band, crossing the Ohio, passed southward
325
through the Chickasaw country, avowing the deed and its motive.
The Little Warrior arrived at home about the middle of March, and
reported that he brought talks from the Shawanese and British. The old
chiefs of the Upper Creeks immediately held a council March 25, and after
listening to the talks, reprimanded the Little Warrior and ordered him to
326
leave the Council House. On the same day Hawkins wrote to them from
Coweta, demanding delivery of the Little Warrior and his six companions to
answer for the murders they had committed. On hearing this demand, the
old chiefs at Tuckaubatchee under the lead of the Big Warrior held another
council, while the Little Warrior, the Tuskegee Warrior, and the murderers
took to the woods. The old chiefs in council decided to execute the
murderers, and sent out parties to do it. The Little Warrior was found in the
swamp, well armed, but was decoyed out and killed by treachery; “the first
and second man’s gun snapped at him, but the third man’s gun fired and
killed; ... four men that had on pouches kept them shaking following after
him, so that he could not hear the gun snap; if he had found out that, he
327
would have wounded a good many with his arrows.”
The Tuskegee warrior and four others were found in a house on the
Hickory Ground at the fork of the rivers. As long as they had ammunition,
they held the attack at a distance, but at last the house was fired. The
Tuskegee Warrior being wounded, was burned in the house, while his two
young brothers were taken out and tomahawked. One warrior broke away,
but was caught and killed; two more were killed elsewhere. One escaped,
and “set out the morning after to kill white people.” Warriors were sent after
him.

“He made battle, firing at the warriors, and was near killing one;
the bullet passed near his ear. He then drew his knife and tomahawk,
defended himself, and the warriors shot three balls through him. He
fell, retained the power of speech till next day, and died. He said he had
been to the Shawanese helping of them, and had got fat eating white
people’s flesh. Every one to the very last called on the Shawanese
328
general, Tecumseh.”

Such political executions, in the stifled excitement of the moment,
could not but rouse violent emotion throughout the Creek nation. The old
chiefs, having given life for life, felt the stronger for their assertion of
authority; but they knew nothing of the true situation. For several weeks no
open outbreak occurred, but the prophets were more active than ever. About
June 4 the old chiefs at Tuckaubatchee, hearing that the prophets “kept as
329
usual their fooleries,” sent a runner to the Alabamas with a message: —

“You are but a few Alabama people. You say that the Great Spirit
visits you frequently; that he comes in the sun and speaks to you; that
the sun comes down just above your heads. Now we want to see and
hear what you say you have seen and heard. Let us have the same proof
you have had, and we will believe what we see and hear. You have
nothing to fear; the people who committed murders have suffered for
their crimes, and there is an end of it.”

The runner who carried this message was one of the warriors who had
aided in killing the seven murderers. The Alabamas instantly put him to
death, and sent his scalp to their friends at the forks of the river. Then began
a general uprising, and every warrior who had aided in killing the murderers
was himself killed or hunted from the Upper Creek country. The chiefs of
Tuckaubatchee with difficulty escaped to the agency at Coweta, where they
were under the protection of Georgia.
The Lower Creek towns did not join the outbreak; but of the Upper
Creek towns twenty-nine declared for war, and only five for peace. At least
two thousand warriors were believed to have taken the war-club by August
1, and got the name of Red Clubs, or Red Sticks, for that reason.

Everywhere they destroyed farms, stock, and all objects of white
330
civilization, and killed or drove away their opponents.
With all this the Spaniards had nothing to do. The outbreak was caused
by the Indian War in the Northwest, and immediately by the incompetence
of General Winchester and by the massacre at the river Raisin. The Creeks
were totally unprepared for war, except so far as they trusted to magic; they
had neither guns, powder, nor balls. For that reason they turned to the
Spaniards, who could alone supply them. When the Little Warrior was put
to death, the British letter which he carried from Malden for the Spanish
officials at Pensacola came into the charge of another Creek warrior, Peter
McQueen, a half-breed. In July, McQueen, with a large party of warriors
started for Pensacola, with the letter and four hundred dollars, to get
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powder. On arriving there they saw the Spanish governor, who treated
them civilly, and in fear of violence gave them, according to McQueen’s
332
account, “a small bag of powder each for ten towns, and five bullets to
each man.” With this supply, which the governor represented as a friendly
present for hunting purposes, they were obliged to content themselves, and
started on their return journey.
News that McQueen’s party was at Pensacola instantly reached the
American settlements above Mobile, where the inhabitants were already
333
taking refuge in stockades. A large number of Americans, without
military organization, under several leaders, one of whom was a half-breed
named Dixon Bailey, started July 26 to intercept McQueen, and succeeded
in surprising the Indians July 27 at a place called Burnt Corn, about eighty
miles north of Pensacola. The whites at first routed the Indians, and
captured the pack-mules with the ammunition; but the Indians quickly
rallied, and in their turn routed the whites, with a loss of two killed and
fifteen wounded,—although they failed to recover the greater part of the
pack-animals. With the small amount of powder left to him, McQueen then
returned to his people.
Angry at the attack and eager to revenge the death of his warriors,
McQueen summoned the warriors of thirteen towns, some eight hundred in
number, and about August 20 started in search of his enemies. The Creek
war differed from that on the Lakes in being partly a war of half-breeds.
McQueen’s strongest ally was William Weatherford, a half-breed, well

known throughout the country as a man of property and ability, as nearly
civilized as Indian blood permitted, and equally at home among Indians and
whites. McQueen and Weatherford were bitterly hostile to the half-breeds
334
Bailey and Beasley, who were engaged in the affair of Burnt Corn. Both
Beasley and Bailey were at a stockade called Fort Mims, some thirty-five
miles above Mobile, on the eastern side of the Alabama River, where about
five hundred and fifty persons were collected,—a motley crowd of whites,
half-breeds, Indians, and negroes, old and young, women and children,
protected only by a picket wall, pierced by five hundred loop-holes three
335
and a half feet from the ground, and two rude gates. Beasley
commanded, and wrote, August 80, that he could “maintain the post against
336
any number of Indians.” To Fort Mims the Creek warriors turned, for the
reason that Beasley and Bailey were there, and they arrived in the
neighborhood, August 29, without giving alarm. Twice, negroes tending
cattle outside rushed back to the fort reporting that painted warriors were
hovering about; but the horsemen when sent out discovered no sign of an
enemy, and Beasley tied up and flogged the second negro for giving a false
alarm.
At noon, August 30, when the drum beat for dinner no patrols were out,
the gates were open, and sand had drifted against that on the eastern side so
that it could not quickly be closed. Suddenly a swarm of Indians raising the
warwhoop rushed toward the fort. Beasley had time to reach the gate, but
could not close it, and was tomahawked on the spot. The Indians got
possession of the loop-holes outside, and of one inclosure. The whites,
under Dixon Bailey, held the inner inclosure and fought with desperation;
but at last the Indians succeeded in setting fire to the house in the centre,
and the fire spread to the whole stockade. The Indians then effected an
entrance, and massacred most of the inmates. Fifteen persons escaped, and
among these was Dixon Bailey mortally wounded. Most of the negroes
were spared to be slaves. Two hundred and fifty scalps became trophies of
the Creek warriors,—a number such as had been seldom taken by Indians
from the white people on a single day.

CHAPTER X.
The battle at Burnt Corn was regarded by the Indians as a declaration
of war by the whites. Till then they seemed to consider themselves engaged
337
in a domestic quarrel, or civil war; but after the massacre at Fort Mims
they could not retreat, and yet knew that they must perish except for
supernatural aid. Their destiny was controlled by that of Tecumthe. Ten
days after the massacre at Fort Mims, Perry won his victory on Lake Erie,
which settled the result of the Indian wars both in the North and in the
South. Tecumthe had expected to capture Fort Meigs, and with it Fort
Wayne and the line of the Maumee and Wabash. On the impulse of this
success he probably hoped to raise the war-spirit among the Chickasaws
and Choctaws, and then in person to call the Creeks into the field. Proctor’s
successive defeats blasted Indian hopes, and the Creeks had hardly struck
their first blow in his support when Tecumthe himself fell, and the Indians
of the Lakes submitted or fled to Canada.
At best, the Creek outbreak would have been hopeless. Although the
number of hostile Creek warriors was matter of conjecture, nothing showed
that they could exceed four thousand. At Pensacola, Peter McQueen was
338
said to have claimed forty-eight hundred “gun-men” on his side. At such
a moment he probably exaggerated his numbers. The Big Warrior, who led
the peace party, estimated the hostile Creeks, early in August, as numbering
339
at least twenty-five hundred warriors. If the number of gun-men was four
thousand, the number of guns in their possession could scarcely be more
than one thousand. Not only had the Creeks few guns, and those in poor
condition, but they had little powder or lead, and no means of repairing
their weapons. Their guns commonly missed fire, and even after
discharging them, the Creeks seldom reloaded, but resorted to the bow-and-
arrows which they always carried. As warriors they felt their inferiority to
the Shawanese and Indians of the Lakes, while their position was more
desperate, for the Choctaws and Cherokees behind them refused to join in
their war.

Four thousand warriors who had never seen a serious war even with
their Indian neighbors, and armed for the most part with clubs, or bows-
and-arrows, were not able to resist long the impact of three or four armies,
each nearly equal to their whole force, coming from every quarter of the
compass. On the other hand, the military difficulties of conquering the
Creeks were not trifling. The same obstacles that stopped Harrison in Ohio,
stopped Pinckney in Georgia. Pinckney, like Harrison, could set in motion
three columns of troops on three converging lines, but he could not feed
them or make roads for them. The focus of Indian fanaticism was the
Hickory Ground at the fork of the Coosa and Tallapoosa, about one hundred
and fifty miles distant from the nearest point that would furnish supplies for
an American army coming from Georgia, Tennessee, or Mobile. Pinckney’s
natural line of attack was through Georgia to the Lower Creek towns and
the American forts on the Chattahoochee, whence he could move along a
good road about eighty miles to the Upper Creek towns, near the Hickory
Ground. The next convenient line was from Mobile up the Alabama River
about one hundred and fifty miles to the same point. The least convenient
was the pathless, mountainous, and barren region of Upper Alabama and
Georgia, through which an army from Tennessee must toil for at least a
hundred miles in order to reach an enemy.
The State of Georgia was most interested in the Creek war, and was
chiefly to profit by it. Georgia in 1813 had a white population of about one
hundred and twenty-five thousand, and a militia probably numbering thirty
thousand. Military District No. 6, embracing the two Carolinas and Georgia,
was supposed to contain two thousand regular troops, and was commanded
by Major-General Pinckney. Under Pinckney’s command, a thousand
regulars and three thousand militia, advancing from Georgia by a good road
eighty miles into the Indian country, should have been able to end the Creek
war within six months from the massacre at Fort Mims; but for some reason
the attempts on that side were not so successful as they should have been,
and were neither rapid nor vigorous. Tennessee took the lead.
In respect of white population, the State of Tennessee was more than
double the size of Georgia; but it possessed a greater advantage in Andrew
Jackson, whose extreme energy was equivalent to the addition of an army.
When news of the Mims massacre reached Nashville about the middle of
September, Jackson was confined to his bed by a pistol-shot, which had

broken his arm and nearly cost his life ten days before in a street brawl with
Thomas H. Benton. From his bed he issued an order calling back into
service his two thousand volunteers of 1812; and as early as October 12,
little more than a month after the affair at Fort Mims, he and his army of
twenty-five hundred men were already camped on the Tennessee River
south of Huntsville in Alabama. There was his necessary base of operations,
but one hundred and sixty miles of wilderness lay between him and the
Hickory Ground.
On the Tennessee River Jackson’s position bore some resemblance to
that of Harrison on the Maumee a year before. Energy could not save him
from failure. Indeed, the greater his energy the more serious were his
difficulties. He depended on supplies from east Tennessee descending the
river; but the river was low, and the supplies could not be moved. He had
taken no measures to procure supplies from Nashville. Without food and
forage he could not safely advance, or even remain where he was. Under
such conditions, twenty-five hundred men with half as many horses could
not be kept together. Harrison under the same difficulties held back his
main force near its magazines till it disbanded, without approaching within
a hundred miles of its object. Jackson suffered nearly the same fate. He sent
away his mounted men under General Coffee to forage on the banks of the
Black Warrior River, fifty miles to the southwest, where no Creeks were to
be feared. He forced his infantry forward through rough country some
twenty miles, to a point where the river made its most southern bend, and
there, in the mountainous defile, he established, October 23, a camp which
he called Deposit, where his supplies were to be brought when the river
should permit.
Coffee’s mounted men returned October 24. Then, October 25, in the
hope of finding food as he went, Jackson plunged into the mountains
beyond the river, intending to make a raid, as far as he could, into the Creek
country. Except fatigue and famine, he had nothing to fear. The larger Creek
towns were a hundred miles to the southward, and were busy with
threatened attacks nearer home. After a week’s march Jackson reached the
upper waters of the Coosa. Within a short distance were two or three small
Creek villages. Against one of these Jackson sent his mounted force,
numbering nine hundred men, under General Coffee. Early in the morning
of November 3, Coffee surrounded and destroyed Talishatchee. His report

340
represented that the Indians made an obstinate resistance. “Not one of the
warriors escaped to tell the news,—a circumstance unknown heretofore.”
According to Coffee’s estimate, Talishatchee contained two hundred and
eighty-four Indians of both sexes and all ages. If one in three could be
reckoned as capable of bearing arms, the number of warriors was less than
one hundred. Coffee’s men after the battle counted one hundred and eighty-
six dead Indians, and estimated the total loss at two hundred. In every attack
on an Indian village a certain number of women and children were
necessarily victims, but the proportion at Talishatchee seemed large.

“I lost five men killed, and forty-one wounded,” reported Coffee,
—“none mortally, the greater part slightly, a number with arrows. Two
of the men killed was with arrows; this appears to form a very principal
part of the enemy’s arms for warfare, every man having a bow with a
bundle of arrows, which is used after the first fire with the gun until a
leisure time for loading offers.”

Meanwhile Jackson fortified a point on the Coosa, about thirty-five
miles from his base on the Tennessee, and named it Fort Strother. There he
expected to be joined by a division of east Tennessee militia under General
Cocke, approaching from Chattanooga, as he hoped, with supplies; but
while waiting, he received, November 7, a message from Talladega, a Creek
village thirty miles to the southward, reporting that the town, which had
refused to join the war-party, was besieged and in danger of capture by a
large body of hostile warriors. Jackson instantly started to save Talladega,
and marched twenty-four miles November 8, surrounding and attacking the
besieging Creeks the next morning.

“The victory was very decisive,” reported Jackson to Governor
341
Blount, November 11; “two hundred and ninety of the enemy were
left dead, and there can be no doubt but many more were killed who
were not found.... In the engagement we lost fifteen killed, and eighty-
five wounded.”

342
Coffee estimated the number of Indians, on their own report, at
about one thousand. Jackson mentioned no wounded Indians, nor the
number of hostile Creeks engaged. Male Indians, except infants, were
invariably killed, and probably not more than five or six hundred were in
the battle, for Coffee thought very few escaped unhurt.
At Talladega Jackson was sixty miles from the Hickory Ground, and
still nearer to several large Indian towns, but he had already passed the limit
of his powers. News arrived that the army of eastern Tennessee had turned
eastward toward the Tallapoosa, and that his expected supplies were as
remote as ever. Returning to Fort Strother November 10, Jackson waited
there in forced inactivity, as Harrison had waited at Fort Meigs, anxious
only to avoid the disgrace of retreat. For two weeks the army had lived on
the Indians. A month more passed in idle starvation, until after great efforts
a supply train was organized, and difficulties on that account ceased; but at
the same moment the army claimed discharge.
The claim was reasonable. Enlisted Dec. 10, 1812, for one year, the
men were entitled to their discharge Dec. 10, 1813. Had Jackson been
provided with fresh levies he would doubtless have dismissed the old; but
in his actual situation their departure would have left him at Fort Strother to
pass the winter alone. To prevent this, he insisted that the men had no right
to count as service, within the twelve months for which they had enlisted,
the months between May and October when they were dismissed to their
homes. The men, unanimous in their own view of the contract, started to
march home December 10; and Jackson, in a paroxysm of anger, planted
two small pieces of artillery in their path and threatened to fire on them.
The men, with good-temper, yielded for the moment; and Jackson, quickly
recognizing his helplessness, gave way, and allowed them to depart
December 12, with a vehement appeal for volunteers who made no
response.
Fort Strother was then held for a short time by east Tennessee militia,
about fourteen hundred in number, whose term of service was a few weeks
longer than that of the west Tennesseeans. Jackson could do nothing with
them, and remained idle. The Governor of Tennessee advised him to
withdraw to the State frontier; but Jackson, while admitting that his
campaign had failed, declared that he would perish before withdrawing

343
from the ground he considered himself to have gained. Fortunately he
stood in no danger. The Creeks did not molest him, and he saw no enemy
within fifty miles.
While Jackson was thus brought to a stand-still, Major-General Cocke
of east Tennessee, under greater disadvantages, accomplished only results
annoying to Jackson. Cocke with twenty-five hundred three-months militia
took the field at Knoxville October 12, and moving by way of Chattanooga
reached the Coosa sixty or seventy miles above Camp Strother. The nearest
Creek Indians were the Hillabees, on a branch of the Tallapoosa about sixty
miles from Cocke’s position, and the same distance from Jackson. The
Hillabees, a group of four small villages, numbered in 1800 one hundred
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and seventy warriors. Unaware that the Hillabees were making their
submission to Jackson, and were to receive his promise of protection,
Cocke sent a large detachment, which started November 12 into the Indian
country, and surprised one of the Hillabee villages November 18,
massacring sixty-one warriors, and capturing the other inmates, two
hundred and fifty in number, without losing a drop of blood or meeting any
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resistance.
Jackson was already displeased with General Cocke’s conduct, and the
Hillabee massacre increased his anger. Cocke had intentionally kept himself
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and his army at a distance in order to maintain an independent command.
Not until Jackson’s troops disbanded and marched home, December 12, did
Cocke come to Fort Strother. There his troops remained a month, guarding
Jackson’s camp, until January 12, 1814, when their three months’ term
expired.
While five thousand men under Jackson and Cocke wandered about
northern Alabama, able to reach only small and remote villages, none of
which were actively concerned in the outbreak, the Georgians organized a
force to enter the heart of the Creek country. Brigadier-General John Floyd
commanded the Georgia army, and neither Major-General Pinckney nor any
United States troops belonged to it. Jackson’s battle of Talladega was fought
November 9; Cocke’s expedition against the Hillabees started November
12, and surprised the Hillabee village November 18. Floyd entered the
hostile country November 24. The Georgians though nearest were last to
move, and moved with the weakest force. Floyd had but nine hundred and

forty militia, and three or four hundred friendly warriors of the Lower
Creek villages.
Floyd had heard that large numbers of hostile Indians were assembled
at Autossee,—a town on the Tallapoosa River near Tuckaubatchee, in the
centre of the Upper Creek country. He crossed the Chattahoochee
November 24 with five days rations, and marched directly against Autossee,
arriving within nine or ten miles without meeting resistance. At half-past six
on the morning of November 29 he formed his troops for action in front of
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the town.
The difference between the Northwestern Indians and the Creeks was
shown in the battle of Autossee compared with Tippecanoe. Floyd was
weaker than Harrison, having only militia and Indians, while Harrison had a
regular regiment composing one third of his rank-and-file. The Creeks were
probably more numerous than the Tippecanoe Indians, although in both
cases the numbers were quite unknown. Probably the Creeks were less well
armed, but they occupied a strong position and stood on the defensive.
Floyd reported that by nine o’clock he drove the Indians from their towns
and burned their houses,—supposed to be four hundred in number. He
estimated their loss at two hundred killed. His own loss was eleven killed
and fifty-four wounded. That of Harrison at Tippecanoe was sixty-one
killed or mortally wounded, and one hundred and twenty-seven not fatally
injured. The Creeks hardly inflicted one fourth the loss caused by the
followers of the Shawnee Prophet.
General Floyd,—himself among the severely wounded,—immediately
after the battle ordered the troops to begin their return march to the
Chattahoochee. The Georgia raid into the Indian country was bolder, less
costly, and more effective than the Tennessee campaign; but at best it was
only a raid, like the Indian assault on Fort Mims, and offered no immediate
prospect of regular military occupation. Another attempt, from a third
quarter, had the same unsatisfactory result.
The successor of General Wilkinson at New Orleans and Mobile, and in
Military District No. 7, was Brigadier-General Thomas Flournoy. Under his
direction an expedition was organized from Fort Stoddert, commanded by
Brigadier-General Claiborne of the Mississippi volunteers. Claiborne was
given the Third United States Infantry, with a number of militia, volunteers,

and Choctaw Indians,—in all about a thousand men. He first marched to a
point on the Alabama River, about eighty-five miles above Fort Stoddert,
where he constructed a military post, called Fort Claiborne. Having
established his base there, he marched, December 13, up the river till he
reached, December 23, the Holy Ground, where the half-breed Weatherford
lived. There Claiborne approached within about fifty miles of the point
which Floyd reached a month before, but for want of co-operation he could
not maintain his advantage. He attacked and captured Weatherford’s town,
killing thirty Indians, with a loss of one man; but after destroying the place
he retreated, arriving unharmed at Fort Claiborne, on the last day of the
year.
Thus the year 1813 ended without closing the Creek war. More than
seven thousand men had entered the Indian country from four directions;
and with a loss of thirty or forty lives had killed, according to their reports,
about eight hundred Indians, or one fifth of the hostile Creek warriors; but
this carnage had fallen chiefly on towns and villages not responsible for the
revolt. The true fanatics were little harmed, and could offer nearly as much
resistance as ever. The failure and excessive expense of the campaign were
the more annoying, because they seemed beyond proportion to the military
strength of the fanatics. Major-General Pinckney wrote to the War
348
Department at the close of the year: —

“The force of the hostile Creeks was estimated by the best judges
to have consisted of three thousand five hundred warriors; of these it is
apprehended that about one thousand have been put hors de combat.”

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To Andrew Jackson, Pinckney wrote, Jan. 19, 1814,

“Your letter, dated December 26, did not reach me until the last
evening. Your preceding dispatches of December 14 had led me to
conclude what would probably soon be the diminished state of your
force. I therefore immediately ordered to your support Colonel
Williams’s regiment of twelve-months men, and wrote to the Governor
of Tennessee urging him to complete the requisition of fifteen hundred
for the time authorized by law. I learn from the person who brought

your letter that Colonel Williams’s regiment is marching to join you; if
the fifteen hundred of the quota should also be furnished by Governor
Blount, you will in my opinion have force sufficient for the object to be
attained. The largest computation that I have heard of the hostile Creek
warriors, made by any competent judge, is four thousand. At least one
thousand of them have been killed or disabled; they are badly armed
and supplied with ammunition; little doubt can exist that two thousand
of our men would be infinitely superior to any number they can
collect.”

Jackson at Fort Strother on the departure of the east Tennesseeans,
January 14, received a reinforcement of sixty-day militia, barely nine
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hundred in number. Determined to use them to the utmost, Jackson
started three days afterward to co-operate with General Floyd in an attack
on the Tallapoosa villages, aiming at a town called Emuckfaw, some forty
miles north of Tuckaubatchee. The movement was much more dangerous
than any he had yet attempted. His own force was fresh, motley, and weak,
numbering only nine hundred and thirty militia, including “a company of
volunteer officers headed by General Coffee, who had been abandoned by
his men,” and assisted by two or three hundred friendly Creeks and
Cherokees. The sixty-day militia were insubordinate and unsteady, the
march was long, and the Creek towns at which he aimed were relatively
large. Emuckfaw was one of seven villages belonging to Ocfuskee, the
largest town in the Creek nation,—in 1800 supposed to contain four
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hundred and fifty warriors.
As far as Enotachopco Creek, twelve miles from Emuckfaw, Jackson
had no great danger to fear; but beyond that point he marched with caution.
At daylight, January 22, the Indians, who were strongly encamped at about
three miles distance, made an attack on Jackson’s camp, which was
repulsed after half an hour’s fighting. Jackson then sent Coffee with four
hundred men to burn the Indian camp, but Coffee returned without
attempting it. “On viewing the encampment and its strength the General
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thought it most prudent to return to my encampment,” reported Jackson.
Immediately after Coffee’s return the Indians again attacked, and Coffee
sallied out to turn their flank, followed by not more than fifty-four men. The

Indians were again repulsed with a loss of forty-five killed, but Coffee was
severely wounded, and Jackson “determined to commence a return march to
Fort Strother the following day.”
At that moment Jackson’s situation was not unlike that of Harrison
after the battle of Tippecanoe, and he escaped less happily. Fortifying his
camp, he remained during the night of January 22 undisturbed. At half-past
ten, January 23, he began his return march, “and was fortunate enough to
reach Enotachopco before night, having passed without interruption a
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dangerous defile occasioned by a hurricane.” Enotachopco Creek was
twelve or fifteen miles from Emuckfaw Creek, and the Hillabee towns were
about the same distance beyond.
At Enotachopco Jackson again fortified his camp. His position was
such as required the utmost caution in remaining or moving. So hazardous
was the passage of the deep creek and the defile beyond, through which the
army had marched in its advance, that Jackson did not venture to return by
the same path, but on the morning of January 24 began cautiously crossing
the creek at a safer point:—

“The front guard had crossed with part of the flank columns, the
wounded were over, and the artillery in the act of entering the creek,
when an alarm-gun was heard in the woods.... To my astonishment and
mortification, when the word was given by Colonel Carrol to halt and
form, and a few guns had been fired, I beheld the right and left
columns of the rear guard precipitately give way. This shameful retreat
was disastrous in the extreme; it drew along with it the greater part of
the centre column, leaving not more than twenty-five men, who being
formed by Colonel Carrol maintained their ground as long as it was
possible to maintain it, and it brought consternation and confusion into
the centre of the army,—a consternation which was not easily removed,
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and a confusion which could not soon be restored to order.”

The Indians were either weak or ignorant of warfare, for they failed to
take advantage of the panic, and allowed themselves to be driven away by a
handful of men. Jackson’s troops escaped unharmed, or but little injured,
their loss in the engagements of January 22 and 24 being twenty-four men

killed and seventy-one wounded. Probably the Creek force consisted of the
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Ocfuskee warriors, and numbered about half that of Jackson. Coffee
supposed them to be eight hundred or a thousand in number, but the
exaggeration in estimating Indian forces was always greater than in
estimating white enemies in battle. An allowance of one third was
commonly needed for exaggeration in reported numbers of European
combatants; an allowance of one half was not unreasonable in estimates of
Indian forces.
In letting Jackson escape from Emuckfaw the Creeks lost their single
opportunity. Jackson never repeated the experiment. He arrived at Fort
Strother in safety January 29, and did not again leave his intrenchment until
the middle of March, under much better conditions.
General Floyd was no more successful. Jackson started from Fort
Strother for Emuckfaw January 17; Floyd left Fort Mitchell, on the
Chattahoochee, January 18, for Tuckaubatchee, only forty miles south of
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Emuckfaw. Floyd’s army, like Jackson’s, was partly composed of militia
and partly of Lower Creek warriors, in all about seventeen hundred men,
including four hundred friendly Creeks. From the best information to be
obtained at the time, the effective strength of the hostile Indians did not then
357
exceed two thousand warriors, scattered along the Coosa and Tallapoosa
rivers; while experience proved the difficulty of concentrating large bodies
of Indians, even when supplies were furnished them. The British
commissariat in Canada constantly issued from five to ten thousand rations
for Indians and their families, but Proctor never brought more than fifteen
hundred warriors into battle. The Creeks, as far as was known, never
numbered a thousand warriors in any battle during the war. Floyd, with
seventeen hundred men well armed, was able to face the whole Creek
nation, and meant to move forward, fortifying military posts at each day’s
march, until he should establish himself on the Tallapoosa in the centre of
the Creek towns, and wait for a junction with Jackson.
When Jackson was repulsed at Emuckfaw January 22, Floyd was about
forty miles to the southward, expecting to draw the chief attack of the
Indians. Having advanced forty-eight miles from the Chattahoochee he
arrived at a point about seven or eight miles south of Tuckaubatchee, where
he fortified, on Calibee Creek, a camp called Defiance. There, before

daybreak on the morning of January 27, he was sharply attacked, as
Harrison was attacked at Tippecanoe, and with the same result. The attack
was repulsed, but Floyd lost twenty-two killed and one hundred and forty-
seven wounded,—the largest number of casualties that had yet occurred in
the Indian war. The Indians “left thirty-seven dead on the field; from the
effusion of blood and the number of head-dresses and war-clubs found in
various directions, their loss must have been considerable independent of
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their wounded.”
The battle of Calibee Creek, January 27, was in substance a defeat to
Floyd. So decided were his militia in their determination to go home, that
he abandoned all his fortified posts and fell back to the Chattahoochee,
359
where he arrived February 1, four days after the battle.
Six months had then elapsed since the outbreak of hostilities at Burnt
Corn; a year since the Little Warrior murders on the Ohio River, yet not a
post had been permanently occupied within eighty miles of the fanatical
centre at the fork of the Coosa and Tallapoosa.
Pinckney was obliged to apply to the governors of North and South
Carolina to furnish him with men and equipments. The Governor of
Georgia also exerted himself to supply the deficiencies of the national
360
magazines. By their aid Pinckney was able to collect an army with which
to make another and a decisive movement into the Creek country: but
before he could act, Jackson succeeded in striking a final blow.
Jackson’s success in overcoming the obstacles in his path was due to
his obstinacy in insisting on maintaining himself at Fort Strother, which
obliged Governor Blount to order out four thousand more militia in January
for six months. Perhaps this force alone would have been no more effectual
in 1814 than in 1813, but another reinforcement was decisive. The Thirty-
ninth regiment of the regular army, authorized by the Act of January 29,
1813, had been officered and recruited in Tennessee, and was still in the
State. Major-General Pinckney sent orders, Dec. 23, 1813, to its colonel,
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John Williams, to join Jackson. The arrival of the Thirty-ninth regiment
February 6, 1814, gave Jackson the means of coping with his militia.
February 21 he wrote to his quartermaster, Major Lewis, that he meant to
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use his regulars first to discipline his own army. “I am truly happy in

having the Colonel [Williams] with me. His regiment will give strength to
my arm, and quell mutiny.” His patience with militia-men had been long
exhausted, and he meant to make a warning of the next mutineer.
The first victim was no less a person than Major-General Cocke of the
east Tennessee militia. Cocke’s division of two thousand men, mustered for
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six months, began January 17 its march from Knoxville to Fort Strother.
Learning on the march that the west Tennessee division, mustered at the
same time for the same service, had been accepted to serve only three
months, Cocke’s men mutinied, and Cocke tried to pacify them by a
friendly speech. Jackson, learning what had passed, despatched a sharp
order to one of Cocke’s brigadiers to arrest and send under guard to Fort
Strother every officer of whatever rank who should be found exciting the
men to mutiny. Cocke was put under arrest when almost in sight of the
enemy’s country; his sword was taken from him, and he was sent to
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Nashville for trial. His division came to Fort Strother, and said no more
about its term of service.
Having dealt thus with the officers, Jackson selected at leisure a test of
strength with the men. The conduct of the Fayetteville company of the
Twenty-eighth regiment of west Tennessee light infantry gave him ground
for displeasure. Not only had they refused to obey the call for six months’
service and insisted on serving for three months or not at all, but they had
halted on their march, and had sent their commanding officer to bargain
with Jackson for his express adhesion to their terms. Learning that Jackson
made difficulties, they marched home without waiting for an official reply.
Jackson ordered the whole body to be arrested as deserters, accompanying
his order by an offer of pardon to such as returned to duty on their own
understanding of the term of service. The company was again mustered, and
arrived at Fort Strother not long after the arrival of the Thirty-ninth United
States Infantry.
A few weeks later an unfortunate private of the same company, named
Woods, refused to obey the officer of the day, and threatened to shoot any
man who arrested him. Jackson instantly called a court-martial, tried and
sentenced Woods, and March 14 caused him to be shot. The execution was
a harsh measure; but Jackson gave to it a peculiar character by issuing a
general order in which he misstated facts that made Wood’s case

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exceptional, in order to let the company understand that their comrade
was suffering the penalty which they all deserved.
Without giving his army time to brood over this severity, Jackson
ordered a general movement, and within forty-eight hours after Woods’s
execution, all were well on their way toward the enemy. Jackson had with
him about five thousand men, four fifths of whom expected their discharge
in a month. He left them not a day’s repose.
Two lines of advance were open to him in approaching the fork of the
Coosa and Tallapoosa, which was always the objective point. He might
descend the Coosa, or cross to the Tallapoosa by the way he had taken in
January. He descended the Coosa thirty miles, and then struck a sudden
blow at the Tallapoosa towns.
The Ocfuskee Indians, elated by their success in January, collected their
whole force, with that of some neighboring towns, in a bend of the
Tallapoosa, where they built a sort of fortress by constructing across the
neck of the Horse-shoe a breastwork composed of five large logs, one
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above the other, with two ranges of port-holes. The interior was covered
with trees and fallen timber along the river side, and caves were dug in the
bank. Seven or eight hundred Indian warriors together with many women
and children were within the enclosure of eighty or a hundred acres.
Jackson, after leaving a garrison at a new fort which he constructed on
the Coosa, about half way to the Horse-shoe, had somewhat less than three
367
thousand effectives. With these he camped, on the evening of March 28,
about six miles northwest of the bend, and the next morning advanced to
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attack it. “Determined to exterminate them,” he reported, he detached
Coffee with the mounted force of seven hundred men and six hundred
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friendly Indians to surround the bend, along the river bank, while
Jackson himself with all his infantry took position before the breastwork. At
370
half-past ten o’clock he planted his cannon about two hundred yards
from the centre of the work, and began a rapid fire of artillery and musketry,
which continued for two hours without producing apparent effect.
Meanwhile the Cherokee allies swam the river in the rear of the Creek
warriors, who were all at the breastwork, and seizing canoes, brought some
two hundred Indians and whites into the Horse-shoe, where they climbed

the high ground in the rear of the breastwork and fired on the Creeks, who
were occupied in defending their front.
Jackson then ordered an assault on the breastwork, which was carried,
with considerable loss, by the Thirty-ninth regiment, in the centre. The
Creeks sought shelter in the thickets and under the bluffs, where they were
hunted or burned out, and killed. “The slaughter was greater than all we had
done before,” wrote Coffee; it was continued all day and the next morning.
When the Horse-shoe had been thoroughly cleared, five hundred and fifty-
seven dead bodies were counted within the bend; many were killed in the
river, and about twenty were supposed to have escaped. According to
Coffee, “we killed not less than eight hundred and fifty or nine hundred of
them, and took about five hundred squaws and children prisoners.” The
proportion of squaws and children to the whole number of Indians showed
the probable proportion of warriors among the dead. “I lament that two or
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three women and children were killed by accident,” reported Jackson.
Jackson’s loss was chiefly confined to the Thirty-ninth regiment and
the friendly Indians, who were most actively engaged in the storm. The
Thirty-ninth lost twenty killed and fifty-two wounded. Among the severely
wounded was Ensign Samuel Houston, struck by an arrow in the thigh. The
major and two lieutenants were killed. The Cherokees lost eighteen killed
and thirty-five wounded. The friendly Creeks lost five killed and eleven
wounded. The Tennessee militia, comprising two thirds of the army, lost
only eight killed and fifty-two wounded. The total loss was fifty-one killed
and one hundred and forty-eight wounded.
Jackson’s policy of extermination shocked many humane Americans,
and would perhaps have seemed less repulsive had the Creeks shown more
capacity for resistance. The proportion between two hundred casualties on
one side and seven or eight hundred killed on the other would have been
striking in any case, but was especially so where the advantages of position
were on the side of the defence. A more serious criticism was that the towns
thus exterminated were not the towns chiefly responsible for the outbreak.
The Alabamas and the main body of fanatical Creeks escaped.
Jackson was obliged to return to his new fort on the Coosa, a march of
five days; and was delayed five days more by preparations to descend the
river. When at length he moved southward, scouring the country as he went,

he could find no more enemies. He effected his junction with the Georgia
troops April 15, and the united armies reached the fork of the Coosa and
Tallapoosa April 18, where Major-General Pinckney joined them, April 20,
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and took command; but the Red Sticks had then fled southward. A few of
the hostile leaders, including Weatherford, made submission, but McQueen
and the chief prophets escaped to continue the war from Florida. The
friendly Creeks did not consider the war to be finished; they reported to
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Hawkins —

“They did not believe the hostile Indians were ready for peace,
although a part of them had suffered so severely in battle against our
armies. They were proud, haughty, brave, and mad by fanaticism.
Those of the towns of Tallapoosa below Tuckaubatchee and Alabama
had suffered the least, although they were the most culpable; and it was
probable they would mistake our object in offering terms of peace to
them.”

The number of refugees was never precisely known, but Hawkins
reported that eight of the Tallapoosa towns had migrated in a body to
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Spanish territory, and probably a larger proportion of the Coosa and
Alabama towns accompanied them. The Indians themselves gave out that a
few more than a thousand Red Stick warriors survived, who meant to die
fighting. In May the British admiral Cochrane sent Captain Pigot of the
“Orpheus” to the Appalachicola to communicate with the refugee Creek
Indians and supply them with arms. Pigot received ten of the principal
375
chiefs on board his vessel May 20, and reported on their authority that
“the number of the warriors of the Creek Nation friendly to the English and
ready to take up arms was about twenty-eight hundred, exclusive of one
thousand unarmed warriors who had been driven by the Americans from
their towns into the marshes near Pensacola, and who were expected to
rejoin the main body.” The Creek warriors friendly to the Americans were
estimated at about twelve hundred, and the fugitive Red Sticks at one
thousand. Whatever their number, they included the most fanatical
followers of Tecumthe, and their obstinate outlawry caused long and costly
difficulties to the United States government.

Meanwhile the whites were conquerors and could take as much of the
Creek lands as suited them; but an irregularity of form could not be
avoided. Secretary Armstrong first authorized General Pinckney to
conclude a treaty of peace with the hostile Creeks, containing a cession of
376
land and other provisions. A few days later Armstrong saw reason to
prefer that the proposed treaty with the Creeks should take a form
377
altogether military, and be in the nature of a capitulation. His idea
378
required a treaty with the hostile Creek chiefs; but the hostile Creeks
were not a separate organization capable of making a treaty or granting
lands of the Creek nation; and besides that difficulty the hostile chiefs had
fled, and refused either to submit or negotiate. No chiefs remained except
among the friendly Creeks, who could not capitulate because they had
never been at war. They had fought in the United States service and were
entitled to reward as allies, not to punishment as enemies.
The solution of this legal problem was entrusted to Andrew Jackson,
whose services in the war earned for him the appointment of major-general
in the regular army, and the command of Military District No. 7, with
headquarters at Mobile. Jackson met the Creek chiefs in July. The Indians,
parties to the negotiation, were friendly chiefs, deputies, and warriors,
representing perhaps one third of the entire Creek nation. To these allies and
friends Jackson presented a paper, originally intended for the hostile
Indians, entitled “Articles of Agreement and Capitulation,” requiring as
indemnity for war expenses a surrender of two thirds of their territory. They
were required to withdraw from the southern and western half of Alabama,
within the Chattahoochee on the east and the Coosa on the west. The
military object of this policy was to isolate them from the Seminoles and
Spaniards on one side, and from the Choctaws and Chickasaws on the other.
The political object was to surround them with a white population.
Unanimously the Creeks refused to accept the sacrifice. Jackson told
them in reply that their refusal would show them to be enemies of the
United States; that they might retain their own part of the country, but that
the part which belonged to the hostile Indians would be taken by the
government; and that the chiefs who would not consent to sign the paper
might join the Red Sticks at Pensacola,—although, added Jackson, he
should probably overtake and destroy them before they could get there.

Such arguments could not be answered. A number of the Creeks at last,
after long resistance, signed the capitulation or agreement, although they
continued to protest against it, and refused their aid to carry it out.
379
Jackson’s capitulation of Aug. 9, 1814, which, without closing the
Creek war, appropriated to the government the larger part of the Creek
380
lands, was nearly simultaneous with a treaty signed July 22 by William
Henry Harrison and Lewis Cass, at Greenville in Ohio, with chiefs of the
Wyandots, Delawares, Shawanese, Senecas, and Miamis. This treaty
contained no land-cession, but established peace between the parties, and
obliged the Indian signers to declare war on the British. Neither Harrison’s
nor Jackson’s treaty embraced the chief body of hostile Indians; but
Harrison’s treaty served another purpose of no small value in appearing to
remove an obstacle to negotiation with England.

CHAPTER XI.
Badly as the United States fared in the campaign of 1813, their
situation would have been easy had they not suffered under the annoyances
of a blockade continually becoming more stringent. The doctrine that coasts
could be blockaded was enforced against America with an energy that fell
little short of demonstration. The summer was well advanced before the
whole naval force to be used for the purpose could be posted at the proper
stations. Not until May 26 did Admiral Warren issue at Bermuda his
proclamation of “a strict and rigorous blockade of the ports and harbors of
New York, Charleston, Port Royal, Savannah, and of the river Mississippi,”
which completed the blockade of the coast, leaving only the ports of New
England open to neutrals. From that time nothing entered or left the
blockaded coast except swift privateers, or occasional fast-sailing vessels
which risked capture in the attempt. Toward the close of the year Admiral
Warren extended his blockade eastward. Notice of the extension was given
at Halifax November 16, and by the blockading squadron off New London
December 2, thus closing Long Island Sound to all vessels of every
381
description.
382
The pressure of the blockade was immediately felt. In August
superfine flour sold at Boston for $11.87 a barrel, at Baltimore for $6.00,
and at Richmond for $4.50. Upland cotton sold at Boston for twenty cents a
pound; at Charleston for nine cents. Rice sold at Philadelphia for $12.00 a
hundred weight; in Charleston and Savannah for $3.00. Sugar sold in
Boston for $18.75 a hundred weight; in Baltimore for $26.50. Already the
American staples were unsalable at the places of their production. No rate
of profit could cause cotton, rice, or wheat to be brought by sea from
Charleston or Norfolk to Boston. Soon speculation began. The price of
imported articles rose to extravagant points. At the end of the year coffee
sold for thirty-eight cents a pound, after selling for twenty-one cents in
August. Tea which could be bought for $1.70 per pound in August, sold for
three and four dollars in December. Sugar which was quoted at nine dollars

a hundred weight in New Orleans, and in August sold for twenty-one or
twenty-two dollars in New York and Philadelphia, stood at forty dollars in
December.
More sweeping in its effects on exports than on imports, the blockade
rapidly reduced the means of the people. After the summer of 1813, Georgia
alone, owing to its contiguity with Florida, succeeded in continuing to send
out cotton. The exports of New York, which exceeded $12,250,000 in 1811,
fell to $209,000 for the year ending in 1814. The domestic exports of
Virginia diminished in four years from $4,800,000 to $3,000,000 for 1812,
$1,819,000 for 1813, and $17,581 for the year ending Sept. 30, 1814. At the
383
close of 1813 exports, except from Georgia and New England, ceased.
On the revenue the blockade acted with equal effect. Owing to the
increase of duties and to open ports, the New England States rather
increased than diminished their customs receipts. Until the summer of 1813,
when the blockade began in earnest, New York showed the same result; but
after that time the receipts fell, until they averaged less than $50,000 a
month instead of $500,000, which would have been a normal average if
peace had been preserved. Philadelphia suffered sooner. In 1810 the State of
Pennsylvania contributed more than $200,000 a month to the Treasury; in
1813 it contributed about $25,000 a month. Maryland, where was collected
in 1812 no less than $1,780,000 of net revenue, paid only $182,000 in 1813,
and showed an actual excess of expenditures in 1814. After the summer, the
total net revenue collected in every port of the United States outside of New
England did not exceed $150,000 a month, or at the rate of $1,800,000 a
384
year.
No ordinary operations of war could affect the United States so
severely as this inexorable blockade. Every citizen felt it in every action of
his life. The farmer grew crops which he could not sell, while he paid
tenfold prices for every necessity. While the country was bursting with
wealth, it was ruined. The blockade was but a part of the evil. The whole
coast was systematically swept of the means of industry. Especially the
Virginians and Marylanders felt the heavy hand of England as it was felt
nowhere else except on the Niagara River. A large British squadron
occupied Chesapeake Bay, and converted it into a British naval station.
After the month of February, 1813, the coasts of Virginia and Maryland

enjoyed not a moment’s repose. Considering the immense naval power
wielded by England, the Americans were fortunate that their chief losses
were confined to the farm-yards and poultry of a few islands in Chesapeake
Bay, but the constant annoyance and terror were not the less painful to the
people who apprehended attack.
Fortunately the British naval officers showed little disposition to
distinguish themselves, and their huge line-of-battle ships were not adapted
to river service. The squadron under the general command of Admiral Sir
John Borlase Warren seemed contented for the most part to close the bay to
commerce. The only officer in the fleet who proved the energy and capacity
to use a part of the great force lying idle at Lynnhaven Bay was Rear-
Admiral Sir George Cockburn, whose efficiency was attested by the
execration in which his name was held for fifty years in the United States.
His duties were not of a nature to make him popular, and he was an admiral
of the old school, whose boisterous energy seemed to take needless pleasure
in the work.
Early in April, 1813, Admiral Warren sent Cockburn with a light flotilla
to the head of Chesapeake Bay to destroy everything that could serve a
warlike purpose, and to interrupt, as far as possible, communication along
385
the shore. The squadron consisted of only one light frigate, the
“Maidstone,” thirty-six guns; two brigs, the “Fantome” and “Mohawk;” and
three or four prize schooners, with four or five hundred seamen, marines,
and soldiers. With this petty force Cockburn stationed himself at the mouth
of the Susquehanna River, and soon threw Maryland into paroxysms of
alarm and anger. Taking possession of the islands in his neighborhood, he
obtained supplies of fresh food for the whole British force in Chesapeake
Bay. He then scoured every creek and inlet above his anchorage. He first
moved into the Elk River, and sent his boats, April 28, with one hundred
and fifty marines, to Frenchtown,—a village of a dozen buildings, which
had acquired a certain importance for the traffic between Baltimore and
Philadelphia since the stoppage of transit by sea. Without losing a man, the
expedition drove away the few Americans who made a show of resistance,
and burned whatever property was found, “consisting of much flour, a large
quantity of army clothing, of saddles, bridles, and other equipments for
cavalry, etc., together with various articles of merchandise,” besides five
386
vessels lying near the place.

Cockburn next sent the same force to destroy a battery lately erected at
Havre de Grace. The attack was made on the morning of May 3, and like
the attack on Frenchtown, met with only resistance enough to offer an
excuse for pillage. The militia took refuge in the woods; Cockburn’s troops
destroyed or carried away the arms and cannon, and set fire to the town of
some sixty houses, “to cause the proprietors (who had deserted them and
formed part of the militia who had fled to the woods) to understand and feel
what they were liable to bring upon themselves by building batteries and
387
acting toward us with so much useless rancor.” While engaged in this
work Cockburn was told that an extensive cannon-foundry existed about
four miles up the Susquehanna River; and he immediately started for it in
his boats. He met no resistance, and destroyed the foundry with several
small vessels. His handful of men passed the day undisturbed on the banks
of the Susquehanna, capturing fifty-one cannon, mostly heavy pieces, with
one hundred and thirty stand of small arms. The party then returned to their
ships, “where we arrived at ten o’clock, after being twenty-two hours in
constant exertion, without nourishment of any kind; and I have much
pleasure in being able to add that, excepting Lieutenant Westphall’s wound,
we have not suffered any casualty whatever.”
These expeditions cleared every inlet in the Upper Chesapeake except
the Sassafras River on the eastern shore. During the night of May 5
Cockburn sent his boats into the Sassafras. Militia in considerable numbers
assembled on both banks and opened a fire which Cockburn described as
“most heavy,” aided by one long gun. Cockburn landed, dispersed the
militia, and destroyed Fredericktown and Georgetown, with the vessels and
stores he found there. This expedition cost him five men wounded, one
severely. The next day, May 6, he reported to Admiral Warren,—

“I had a deputation from Charleston in the Northeast River to
assure me that that place is considered by them at your mercy, and that
neither guns nor militia-men shall be suffered there; and as I am
assured that all the places in the upper part of Chesapeake Bay have
adopted similar resolutions, and as there is now neither public property,
vessels, nor warlike stores remaining in this neighborhood, I propose
returning to you with the light squadron to-morrow morning.”

Thus in the course of a week, and without loss of life on either side,
Cockburn with a few boats and one hundred and fifty men terrorized the
shores of the Upper Chesapeake, and by his loud talk and random threats
threw even Baltimore into a panic, causing every one to suspend other
pursuits in order to garrison the city against an imaginary attack. The
people, harassed by this warfare, remembered with extreme bitterness the
marauding of Cockburn and his sailors; but where he met no resistance he
paid in part for what private property he took, and as far as was recorded,
his predatory excursions cost the Marylanders not a wound.
For six weeks after Cockburn’s return to Warren’s station at Lynnhaven
Bay, the British fleet remained inactive. Apparently the British government
aimed at no greater object than that of clearing from Chesapeake Bay every
vessel not engaged in British interests under British protection. The small
craft and privateers were quickly taken or destroyed; but the three chief
depots of commerce and armaments—Norfolk, Baltimore, and Washington
—required a greater effort. Of these three places Norfolk seemed most open
to approach, and Admiral Warren determined to attack it.
The British navy wished nothing more ardently than to capture or
destroy the American frigates. One of these, the “Constellation,” lay at
Norfolk, where it remained blockaded throughout the war. Admiral Warren
could earn no distinction so great as the credit of capturing this frigate,
which not only threatened to annoy British commerce should she escape to
sea, but even when blockaded in port required a considerable squadron to
watch her, and neutralized several times her force.
Another annoyance drew Warren’s attention to Norfolk. June 20, fifteen
gunboats issued from the harbor before daylight, and under cover of
darkness approached within easy range of a becalmed British frigate, the
“Junon” of forty-six guns. For half an hour, from four o’clock till half-past
four, the gunboats maintained, according to the official report of
Commodore Cassin who commanded them, “a heavy, galling fire at about
388
three quarters of a mile distance.” Their armament was not mentioned,
but probably they, like the gunboats on the Lakes, carried in part long
thirty-two and twenty-four-pound guns. The attack was intended to test the
offensive value of gunboats, and the result was not satisfactory. The fire of
fifteen heavy guns for half an hour on a defenceless frigate within easy

range should have caused great injury, but did not. When a breeze rose and
enabled the “Junon” and a neighboring frigate, the “Barrosa,” to get under
weigh, the gunboats were obliged to retire with the loss of one man killed
and two wounded. The “Junon” also had one man killed, but received only
389
one or two shots in her hull.
The “Constellation” lay, under the guns of two forts and with every
possible precaution, five miles up the Elizabeth River, at the Portsmouth
navy-yard. The utmost pains had been taken to provide against approach by
water. Whatever incompetence or neglect was shown elsewhere, Norfolk
was under the command of able officers in both services, who neglected no
means of defence. General Wade Hampton had fortified the interior line
immediately below the town, where two strong forts were constructed under
the direction of Captain Walker Keith Armistead of the Engineers, the first
graduate of the West Point Academy in 1803. Five miles below these forts,
where the river widened into Hampton Roads, Brigadier-General Robert
Taylor of the Virginia militia, and Captain John Cassin commanding at the
navy-yard, established a second line of defence, resting on Craney Island on
the left, supported by fifteen or twenty gunboats moored across the channel.
A battery of seven guns was established on the island covering the approach
to the gunboats, so that the capture of the island was necessary to the
approach by water. The force on the island consisted of about seven
hundred men, of whom less than a hundred were State troops. The rest were
390
infantry of the line, riflemen, seamen, and marines. The town and forts
were strongly garrisoned, and a large body of State militia was constantly
on service.
To deal with the defences of Norfolk, Admiral Warren brought from
Bermuda, according to newspaper account, a detachment of battalion
marines eighteen hundred strong; three hundred men of the One Hundred-
and-second regiment of the line, commanded by Lieut.-Colonel Charles
James Napier, afterward a very distinguished officer; two hundred and fifty
chasseurs, or French prisoners of war who had entered the British service;
391
and three hundred men of the royal marine artillery, —in all, two
thousand six hundred and fifty rank-and-file, or about three thousand men
all told, besides the sailors of the fleet. At that time no less than thirteen sail

of British ships, including three ships-of-the-line and five frigates, lay at
anchor within thirteen miles of Craney Island.
The attack was planned for June 22. The land forces were commanded
by Sir Sydney Beckwith, but the general movement was directed by
392
Admiral Warren. The main attack, led by Major-General Beckwith in
person, was to land and approach Craney Island from the rear, or mainland;
the second division, under command of Captain Pechell of the flag-ship
“San Domingo,” 74, was to approach the island in boats directly under fire
of the American guns on the island, but not exposed to those in the
gunboats.
The plan should have succeeded. The island was held by less than
seven hundred men in an open earthwork easily assaulted from the rear. The
water was so shallow as to offer little protection against energetic attack.
The British force was more than twice the American, and the plan of attack
took from the gunboats the chance of assisting the land-battery.

(Larger)

MAP
OF THE
BATTLE
OF
CRANEY ISLAND
FROM MAPS IN
OFFICE CHIEF OF ENGINEERS

At daylight on the morning of June 22 Beckwith, with about eight
hundred men, landed on the main shore outside of Craney Island, and
pushed forward to take the island in the rear. Soon afterward Captain
Pechell, with about seven hundred men in fifteen boats, approached the
island from the northwest along the shore, far out of the reach of the
gunboats. Toward eleven o’clock the British boats came within range of the
American battery on the island. Contrary to the opinions of several officers,
Captain Pechell insisted on making the attack independently of Beckwith’s
approach, and pushed on. Two or three hundred yards from land the leading
boats grounded in shoal water. Apparently the men might have waded
ashore; but “one of the seamen, having plunged his boat-hook over the side,
393
found three or four feet of slimy mud at the bottom;” the leading
officer’s boat being aground was soon struck by a six-pound shot, the boat
sunk, and himself and his crew, with those of two other launches, were left
in the water. The other boats took a part of them in, and then quickly retired.
The affair was not improved by the fortunes of Sir Sydney Beckwith,
who advanced to the rear of Craney Island, where he was stopped by creeks
which he reported too deep to ford, and accordingly re-embarked his troops
without further effort; but the true causes of the failure seemed not to be
understood. Napier thought it due to the division of command between
394
three heads, Warren, Cockburn, and Beckwith; but incompetence was as
obvious as the division of command. Admiral Warren’s official report
395
seemed to admit that he was also overmatched: —

“Upon approaching the island, from the extreme shoalness of the
water on the seaside and the difficulty of getting across from the land,
as well as the island itself being fortified with a number of guns and
men from the frigate [‘Constellation’] and the militia, and flanked by
fifteen gunboats, I considered, in consequence of the representation of
the officer commanding the troops of the difficulty of their passing
over from the land, that the persevering in the attempt would cost more
men than the number with us would permit, as the other forts must
have been stormed before the frigate and dock-yard could be destroyed.
I therefore directed the troops to be re-embarked.”

On neither side were the losses serious. The American battery inflicted
less injury than was to be expected. Fifteen British boats containing at least
eight hundred men, all told, remained some two hours under the fire of two
twenty-four-pound and four six-pound guns, at a range differently estimated
from one hundred to three hundred yards, but certainly beyond musketry
fire, for the American troops had to wade out before firing. Three boats
396
were sunk; three men were killed, and sixteen were wounded. Sixty-two
men were reported missing, twenty-two of whom came ashore from the
397
boats, while forty deserted from Beckwith’s land force. The Americans
suffered no loss.
To compensate his men for their check at Craney Island, Admiral
Warren immediately afterward devised another movement, which proved,
what the Craney Island affair suggested, that the large British force in the
Chesapeake was either ill constructed or ill led. Opposite Craney Island, ten
miles away on the north shore of James River, stood the village of
Hampton, a place of no importance either military or commercial. Four or
five hundred Virginia militia were camped there, covering a heavy battery
on the water’s edge. The battery and its defenders invited attack, but
Admiral Warren could have no military object to gain by attacking them.
398
His official report said “that the enemy having a post at Hampton
defended by a considerable corps commanding the communication between
the upper part of the country and Norfolk, I considered it advisable, and
with a view to cut off their resources, to direct it to be attacked.” Hampton
could not fairly be said to “command” communication with Norfolk, a
place which lay beyond ten miles of water wholly commanded by the
British fleet; but Warren was not obliged to excuse himself for attacking
wherever he pleased, and Hampton served his object best.
At dawn of June 25, Beckwith’s troops were set ashore about two miles
above the village, and moved forward to the road, taking Hampton in the
rear, while Cockburn’s launches made a feint from the front. The militia,
after resistance costing Beckwith a total loss of nearly fifty men, escaped,
and the British troops entered the town, where they were allowed to do
what they pleased with property and persons. Lieutenant-Colonel Napier of
the One Hundred-and-second regiment, who commanded Beckwith’s
advance, wrote in his diary that Sir Sydney Beckwith “ought to have

hanged several villains at Little Hampton; had he so done, the Americans
would not have complained; but every horror was perpetrated with
impunity,—rape, murder, pillage,—and not a man was punished.” The
British officers in general shared Napier’s disgust, but alleged that the
English troops took no part in the outrages, which were wholly the work of
the French chasseurs.
Warren made no attempt to hold the town; the troops returned two days
afterward to their ships, and the Virginia militia resumed their station; but
when the details of the Hampton affair became known, the story roused
natural exasperation throughout the country, and gave in its turn incitement
to more violence in Canada. Admiral Warren and Sir Sydney Beckwith did
not deny the wrong; they dismissed their Frenchmen from the service, and
the United States had no further reason to complain of that corps; but the
double mortification seemed to lower the British officers even in their own
eyes to the level of marauders.
After the failure to destroy the “Constellation,” Admiral Warren could
still indulge a hope of destroying the twenty-eight-gun frigate “Adams,”
and the navy-yard at Washington; for the defence of the Potomac had been
totally neglected, and only one indifferent fort, about twelve miles below
the Federal city, needed to be captured. July 1 the British squadron entered
the Potomac; but beyond rousing a panic at Washington it accomplished
nothing, except to gain some knowledge of the shoals and windings that
impeded the ascent of the river. Leaving the Potomac, Warren turned up
Chesapeake Bay toward Annapolis and Baltimore, but made no attempt on
either place. During the rest of the year he cruised about the bay, meeting
little resistance, and keeping the States of Virginia and Maryland in constant
alarm.
Cockburn was more active. In the month of July he was detached with
a squadron carrying Napier’s One Hundred-and-second regiment, and
arrived, July 12, off Ocracoke Inlet, where he captured two fine privateers,
—the “Atlas” and “Anaconda.” Thence he sailed southward, and
established himself for the winter on Cumberland Island, near the Florida
boundary, where he vexed the Georgians. Besides the property consumed or
wasted, he gave refuge to many fugitive slaves, whom he assisted to the
West Indies or Florida. “Strong is my dislike,” wrote Napier, “to what is
perhaps a necessary part of our job: namely, plundering and ruining the

peasantry. We drive all their cattle, and of course ruin them. My hands are
clean; but it is hateful to see the poor Yankees robbed, and to be the robber.”
Compared with the widespread destruction which war brought on these
regions half a century afterward, the injury inflicted by the British navy in
1813 was trifling, but it served to annoy the Southern people, who could
offer no resistance, and were harassed by incessant militia-calls. To some
extent the same system of vexation was pursued on the Northern coast. The
Delaware River was blockaded and its shores much annoyed. New York
was also blockaded, and Nantucket with the adjacent Sounds became a
British naval station. There Sir Thomas Hardy, Nelson’s favorite, officer,
commanded, in his flag-ship the “Ramillies.” Hardy did not encourage
marauding such as Cockburn practised, but his blockade was still stringent,
and its efficiency was proved by the failure of Decatur’s efforts to evade it.
Decatur commanded a squadron composed of the “United States,” its
prize frigate the “Macedonian,” and the sloop-of-war “Hornet,” which lay
in the harbor of New York, waiting for a chance to slip out. Impatient at the
steady watch kept by the British fleet off Sandy Hook, Decatur brought his
three ships through the East River into Long Island Sound. He reached
Montauk Point, May 29, only to find Hardy’s squadron waiting for him.
June 1 he made an attempt to run out, but was chased back, and took refuge
in the harbor of New London. A large British squadron immediately closed
upon the harbor, and Decatur not only lost hope of getting to sea but
became anxious for the safety of his ships. He withdrew them as far as he
could into the river, five miles above the town, and took every precaution to
repel attack. The British officers were said to have declared that they would
get the “Macedonian” back “even if they followed her into a cornfield.”
They did not make the attempt, but their vigilance never relaxed, and
Decatur was obliged to remain all summer idle in port. He clung to the hope
that when winter approached he might still escape; but in the month of
December the country was scandalized by the publication of an official
letter from Decatur to the Secretary of the Navy, charging the people of
New London with the responsibility for his failure.

399
“Some few nights since,” he wrote, Dec. 20, 1813, “the weather
promised an opportunity for this squadron to get to sea, and it was said
on shore that we intended to make the attempt. In the course of the

evening two blue lights were burned on both the points at the harbor’s
mouth as signals to the enemy; and there is not a doubt but that they
have, by signals and otherwise, instantaneous information of our
movements. Great but unsuccessful exertions have been made to detect
those who communicated with the enemy by signal.... Notwithstanding
these signals have been repeated, and have been seen by twenty
persons at least in this squadron, there are men in New London who
have the hardihood to affect to disbelieve it, and the effrontery to avow
their disbelief.”

Decatur’s charge roused much ill feeling, and remained a subject of
extreme delicacy with the people of New London. Perhaps Decatur would
have done better not to make such an assertion until he could prove its truth.
That blue lights, as well as other lights, were often seen, no one denied; but
whether they came from British or from American hands, or were burned on
sea or on shore, were points much disputed. The town of New London was
three miles from the river’s mouth, and Decatur’s squadron then lay at the
town. At that distance the precise position of a light in line with the British
fleet might be mistaken. Decatur’s report, if it proved anything, proved that
the signals were concerted, and were burnt from “both the points at the
river’s mouth.” If the British admiral wanted information, he could have
found little difficulty in obtaining it; but he would hardly have arranged a
system of signals as visible to Decatur as to himself. Even had he done so,
he might have employed men in his own service as well as Americans for
the purpose. Decatur’s letter admitted that he had made great exertions to
detect the culprits, but without success.
The rigor of the British blockade extended no farther north than the
Vineyard and Nantucket. Captain Broke in the “Shannon,” with a
companion frigate, cruised off Boston harbor rather to watch for ships-of-
war than to interfere with neutral commerce. Along the coast of Maine an
illicit trade with the British provinces was so actively pursued that one of
the few American sloops-of-war, the “Enterprise,” cruised there, holding
smugglers, privateers, and petty marauders in check. On no other portion of
the coast would an armed national vessel have been allowed to show itself,
but the “Enterprise,” protected by the bays and inlets of Maine, and favored
by the absence of a blockade, performed a useful service as a revenue

cutter. She was not a first-rate vessel. Originally a schooner, carrying twelve
guns and sixty men, she had taken part in the war with Tripoli. She was
afterward altered into a brig, and crowded with sixteen guns and a hundred
men. In 1813 she was commanded by Lieutenant William Burrows, a
Pennsylvanian, who entered the navy in 1799, and, like all the naval heroes,
was young,—not yet twenty-eight years old.
On the morning of September 5, as the “Enterprise” was cruising
eastward, Burrows discovered in a bay near Portland a strange brig, and
gave chase. The stranger hoisted three English ensigns, fired several guns,
and stood for the “Enterprise.” Perhaps escape would have been impossible;
but the British captain might, without disgrace, have declined to fight, for
he was no match for the American. The “Enterprise” measured about
ninety-seven feet in length; the “Boxer,” as the British brig was named,
measured about eighty-four. The “Enterprise” was nearly twenty-four feet
in extreme width; the “Boxer” slightly exceeded twenty-two feet. The
“Enterprise” carried fourteen eighteen-pound carronades and two long-
nines; the “Boxer” carried twelve eighteen-pound carronades and two long-
sixes. The “Enterprise” had a crew of one hundred and two men; the
“Boxer” had only sixty-six men on board. With such odds against him, the
British captain might have entertained some desperate hope of success, but
could not have expected it.
The behavior of Captain Blyth of the “Boxer” showed consciousness of
his position, for he nailed his colors to the mast, and told his men that they
were not to be struck while he lived. The day was calm, and the two brigs
manœuvred for a time before coming together; but at quarter-past three in
the afternoon they exchanged their first broadside within a stone’s throw of
one another. The effect on both vessels was destructive. Captain Blyth fell
dead, struck full in the body by an eighteen-pound shot. Lieutenant Burrows
fell, mortally wounded, struck by a canister shot. After another broadside, at
half-past three the “Enterprise” ranged ahead, crossed the “Boxer’s” bow,
and fired one or two more broadsides, until the “Boxer” hailed and
surrendered, her colors still nailed to the mast.
Considering the disparity of force, the two brigs suffered nearly in
equal proportion. The “Boxer” lost seven men killed or mortally wounded;
the “Enterprise” lost four. The “Boxer” had thirteen wounded, not fatally;
the “Enterprise” had eight. The “Boxer’s” injuries were not so severe as to

prevent her captors from bringing her as a prize to Portland; and no incident
in this quasi-civil war touched the sensibilities of the people more deeply
than the common funeral of the two commanders,—both well known and
favorites in the service, buried, with the same honors and mourners, in the
graveyard at Portland overlooking the scene of their battle.
Neither the battle between the “Enterprise” and “Boxer,” nor any
measures that could be taken by sea or land, prevented a constant traffic
between Halifax and the New England ports not blockaded. The United
States government seemed afraid to interfere with it. The newspapers
asserted that hundreds of Americans were actually in Halifax carrying on a
direct trade, and that thousands of barrels of flour were constantly arriving
there from the United States in vessels carrying the Swedish or other neutral
flag. In truth the government could do little to enforce its non-intercourse,
and even that little might prove mischievous. Nothing could be worse than
the spirit of the people on the frontier. Engaged in a profitable illicit
commerce, they could only be controlled by force, and any force not
overwhelming merely provoked violence or treason. The Navy Department
had no vessels to send there, and could not have prevented their capture if
vessels in any number had been sent. The Secretary of War had abandoned
to the State governments the defence of the coast. When Armstrong allotted
garrisons to the various military districts, he stationed one regiment,
numbering three hundred and fifty-two effectives, besides two hundred and
sixty-three artillerists, in Military District No. 1, which included the whole
coast north of Cape Cod, with the towns of Boston, Marblehead, Salem,
Gloucester, Portsmouth, Portland, and Eastport. Such a provision was
hardly sufficient for garrisoning the fort at Boston. The government
doubtless could spare no more of its small army, but for any military or
revenue purpose might almost as well have maintained in New England no
force whatever.

CHAPTER XII.
During the month of April, 1813, four American frigates lay in Boston
Harbor fitting for sea. The “President” and “Congress” returned to that port
Dec. 31, 1812. The “Constitution,” after her battle with the “Java,” arrived
at Boston February 27, 1813. The “Chesapeake” entered in safety April 9,
after an unprofitable cruise of four months. The presence of these four
frigates at Boston offered a chance for great distinction to the British officer
stationed off the port, and one of the best captains in the service was there
to seize it. In order to tempt the American frigates to come out boldly, only
two British frigates, the “Shannon” and “Tenedos,” remained off the harbor.
They were commanded by Captain P. B. V. Broke of the “Shannon.” Broke
expected Rodgers with his ships, the “President” and “Congress,” to seize
the opportunity for a battle with two ships of no greater force than the
“Shannon” and “Tenedos;” but either Rodgers did not understand the
challenge or did not trust it, or took a different view of his duties, for he
went to sea on the night of April 30, leaving Broke greatly chagrined and
400
inclined to be somewhat indignant with him for escaping.
After May 1, Broke on the watch outside, as he ran in toward Nahant,
could see the masts of only the “Constitution” and “Chesapeake” at the
Charlestown navy-yard, and his anxiety became the greater as he noticed
401
that the “Chesapeake” was apparently ready for sea. May 25 Broke sent
away his consort, the “Tenedos,” to cruise from Cape Sable southward,
ostensibly because the two frigates cruising separately would have a better
402
chance of intercepting the “Chesapeake” than if they kept together. His
stronger reason was to leave a fair field for the “Chesapeake” and
“Shannon,” as he had before kept all force at a distance except the
403
“Shannon” and “Tenedos” in order to tempt Rodgers to fight. That there
might be no second misunderstanding, he sent several messages to Captain
Lawrence commanding the “Chesapeake,” inviting a combat.

Nothing showed so clearly that at least one object of the war had been
gained by the Americans as the habit adopted by both navies in 1813 of
challenging ship-duels. War took an unusual character when officers like
Hardy and Broke countenanced such a practice, discussing and arranging
duels between matched ships, on terms which implied that England
admitted half-a-dozen American frigates to be equal in value to the whole
British navy. The loss of a British frigate mattered little to a government
which had more than a hundred such frigates actually at sea, not to speak of
heavier ships; but the loss of the “Chesapeake” was equivalent to destroying
nearly one fourth of the disposable American navy. Already the
“Constellation” was imprisoned at Norfolk; the “United States” and
“Macedonian” were blockaded for the war; the “Congress” though at sea
was unseaworthy and never cruised again; the “Adams” was shut in the
Potomac; the “Essex” was in the Pacific. The United States Navy consisted,
for active service on the Atlantic, of only the “President,” 44, at sea; the
“Constitution,” 44, replacing her masts at the Charlestown navy-yard; the
“Chesapeake,” 38, ready for sea; and a few sloops-of-war. Under such
circumstances, British officers who like Broke considered every American
frigate bound to offer them equal terms in a duel, seemed to admit that the
American service had acquired the credit it claimed.
The first duty of a British officer was to take risks; the first duty of an
American officer was to avoid them, and to fight only at his own time, on
his own terms. Rodgers properly declined to seek a battle with Broke’s
ships. Captain James Lawrence of the “Chesapeake” was less cautious, for
his experience in the war led him to think worse of the British navy than it
deserved. Lawrence commanded the “Hornet” in Bainbridge’s squadron at
the time of the “Java’s” capture. Bainbridge and Lawrence blockaded the
“Bonne Citoyenne,” a twenty-gun sloop-of-war at San Salvador in Brazil.
Lawrence sent a message to the captain of the “Bonne Citoyenne” inviting
him to come out and meet the “Hornet.” The British captain declined,
doubtless for proper reasons; but the reason he gave seemed to Lawrence
insufficient, for it was merely that Commodore Bainbridge, in spite of his
404
pledged word, might interfere. Bainbridge sailed about Christmas, and
was absent till January 3, capturing the “Java” in the interval. January 6 he
sailed for Boston, leaving Lawrence in the “Hornet” still blockading the
“Bonne Citoyenne,” which showed no more disposition to fight the

“Hornet” in Bainbridge’s absence than before, although the British captain’s
letter had said that “nothing could give me greater satisfaction than
complying with the wishes of Captain Lawrence” if the single alleged
objection were removed.
The conduct of the “Bonne Citoyenne”—a vessel at least the equal of
405
the “Hornet” —gave Lawrence a low opinion of the British service, and
his respect was not increased by his next experience. A British seventy-four
arrived at San Salvador, January 24, and obliged the “Hornet” to abandon
the “Bonne Citoyenne.” During the next month the little vessel cruised
northward along the Brazil coast, making a few prizes, until February 24 off
the mouth of Demerara River, at half-past three o’clock in the afternoon,
Captain Lawrence discovered a sail approaching him. Within the bar at the
mouth of the river, seven or eight miles distant, he saw another vessel at
anchor. Both were British sloops-of-war. The one at anchor was the
“Espiègle,” carrying eighteen thirty-two-pound carronades. The other,
approaching on the “Hornet’s” weather-quarter, was the “Peacock,”
carrying eighteen twenty-four-pound carronades, two long-sixes, and one or
two lighter pieces.
406
The “Peacock,” according to British report, had long been “the
admiration of her numerous visitors,” and was remarkable for the elegance
of her fittings; but in size she was inferior to the “Hornet.” Lawrence
reported his ship to be four feet the longer, but the British believed the
“Hornet” to measure one hundred and twelve feet in length, while the
407
“Peacock” measured one hundred. Their breadth was the same. The
“Hornet” carried eighteen thirty-two-pounders, while the British captain,
thinking his sloop too light for thirty-twos, had exchanged them for twenty-
fours, and carried only sixteen. The American crew numbered one hundred
and thirty-five men fit for duty; the British numbered one hundred and
twenty-two men and boys.
At ten minutes past five, Lawrence tacked and stood for the brig.
Fifteen minutes afterward the two vessels, sailing in opposite directions,
passed each other and exchanged broadsides within a stone’s-throw. The
British fire, even at point-blank range of forty or fifty feet, did no harm,
while the “Hornet’s” broadside must have decided the battle; for although
both vessels instantly wore, and Lawrence at thirty-five minutes past five

ran his enemy close aboard, the “Peacock” almost immediately struck at
thirty-nine minutes past five in a sinking condition, and actually went down
immediately afterward, carrying with her nine of the “Peacock’s” wounded
and three of the “Hornet’s” crew.
The ease of this victory was beyond proportion to the odds. The British
captain and four men were killed outright, thirty-three officers and men
were wounded, and the brig was sunk in an action of less than fifteen
minutes; while the “Hornet” lost one man killed and two wounded, all aloft,
and not a shot penetrated her hull. If the facility of this triumph satisfied
Lawrence of his easy superiority in battle, the conduct of the “Espiègle”
convinced him that the British service was worse than incompetent.
Lawrence, expecting every moment to see the “Espiègle” get under weigh,
made great exertions to put his ship in readiness for a new battle, but to his
408
astonishment the British brig took no notice of the action. Subsequent
investigation showed that the “Espiègle” knew nothing of the battle until
the next day; but Lawrence, assuming that the British captain must have
seen or heard, or at least ought to have suspected what was happening,
conceived that cowardice was a trait of the British navy.
When Lawrence reached New York he became famous for his victory,
and received at once promotion. The “Hornet,” given to Captain Biddle,
was attached to Decatur’s squadron and blockaded at New London, while
Lawrence received command of the “Chesapeake.” Lawrence was then
thirty-two years old; he was born in New Jersey in 1781, entered the navy
in 1798, and served in the war with Tripoli. He was first lieutenant on the
“Constitution,” and passed to the grade of commander in 1810,
commanding successively the “Vixen,” the “Wasp,” the “Argus,” and the
“Hornet.” His appointment to the “Chesapeake” was an accident, owing to
the ill health of Captain Evans, who commanded her on her recent cruise.
The “Chesapeake’s” reputation for ill luck clung to her so persistently that
neither officers nor men cared greatly to sail in her, and Lawrence would
409
have preferred to remain in the “Hornet;” but his instructions were
positive, and he took command of the “Chesapeake” about the middle of
May. Most of the officers and crew were new. The old crew on reaching
port, April 9, had been discharged, and left the ship, dissatisfied with their
share of prize-money, and preferring to try the privateer service. The new

crew was unequal in quality and required training; they neither knew their
officers nor each other.
Lawrence’s opponent, Captain Broke of the “Shannon,” was an officer
whose courage could as little be questioned as his energy or skill. Among
all the commanders in the British service Broke had profited most by the
lessons of the war. More than seven years’ experience of his ship and crew
gave him every advantage of discipline and system. Nearly every day the
officers at the Charlestown navy-yard could see the “Shannon” outside,
practising her guns at floating targets as she sailed about the bay. Broke’s
most anxious wish was to fight the “Chesapeake,” which he considered to
410
be of the same size with the “Shannon.” The two frigates were the same
length within a few inches,—between one hundred and fifty, and one
hundred and fifty-one feet. Their breadth was forty feet within a few inches.
The “Chesapeake” carried eighteen thirty-two-pound carronades on the
spar-deck; the “Shannon” carried sixteen. Each carried twenty-eight long
eighteen-pounders on the gun-deck. The “Chesapeake” carried also two
long twelve-pounders and a long eighteen-pounder, besides a twelve-pound
carronade. The “Shannon” carried four long nine-pounders, a long six-
pounder, and three twelve-pound carronades. The “Chesapeake’s” only
decided advantage was in the number of her crew, which consisted of three
hundred and seventy-nine men, while the “Shannon” carried three hundred
and thirty all told.
Broke sent the “Tenedos” away May 25, but Lawrence was not aware
of it, and wrote, May 27, to Captain Biddle of the “Hornet” a letter,
showing that till the last moment he hoped not to sail in the
411
“Chesapeake:” —

“In hopes of being relieved by Captain Stewart, I neglected writing
to you according to promise; but as I have given over all hopes of
seeing him, and the ‘Chesapeake’ is almost ready, I shall sail on
Sunday, provided I have a chance of getting out clear of the ‘Shannon’
and ‘Tenedos,’ who are on the look-out.”

Sunday, May 30, the ship was ready, though the crew was not as good
or as well disciplined as it should have been, and showed some discontent

owing to difficulties about prize-money. On the morning of June 1 the
frigate was lying in President’s Roads, when between eight and nine
o’clock the second lieutenant, George Budd, reported a sail in sight. Captain
Lawrence went up the main rigging, and having made out the sail to be a
large frigate, ordered the crew to be mustered, and told them he meant to
fight. At midday he stood down the harbor and out to sea. The “Shannon,”
outside, stood off under easy sail, and led the way until five o’clock, when
she luffed and waited till the “Chesapeake” came up. As the wind was
westerly, Lawrence had the choice of position, but he made no attempt to
profit by his advantage, although it might have been decisive. Bringing the
“Chesapeake” with a fresh breeze directly down on the “Shannon’s”
quarter, at half-past five he luffed, at about fifty yards distance, and ranged
up abeam on the “Shannon’s” starboard side.
The “Shannon” opened fire as her guns began to bear, but discharged
only her two sternmost guns when the “Chesapeake” replied. The two ships
ran on about seven minutes, or about the length of time necessary for two
discharges of the first guns fired, when, some of the “Shannon’s” shot
having cut away the “Chesapeake’s” foretopsail tie and jib-sheet, the ship
came up into the wind and was taken aback. Lying with her larboard quarter
toward the “Shannon’s” side, at some forty or fifty yards distance, she
began to drift toward her enemy. None of the “Chesapeake’s” guns then
bore on the “Shannon,” and the American frigate wholly ceased firing.
From the moment the “Chesapeake” was taken aback she was a beaten
ship, and the crew felt it. She could be saved only by giving her headway,
or by boarding the “Shannon;” but neither expedient was possible. The
effort to make sail forward was tried, and proved futile. The idea of
boarding was also in Lawrence’s mind, but the situation made it
impracticable. As the “Chesapeake” drifted stern-foremost toward the
“Shannon,” every gun in the British broadside swept the American deck
diagonally from stern to stem, clearing the quarter-deck and beating in the
stern-ports, while the musketry from the “Shannon’s” tops killed the men at
the “Chesapeake’s” wheel, and picked off every officer, sailor, or marine in
the after-part of the ship. Boarders could not be rallied under a fire which
obliged them to seek cover. The men on the spar-deck left their stations,
crowding forward or going below.

Chesapeake
Shannon

Nevertheless, Lawrence ordered up his boarders,—he could do nothing
else; but the affair hurried with such rapidity to its close that almost at the
same instant the “Chesapeake’s” quarter touched the “Shannon” amidships.
From the moment when the “Chesapeake” was taken aback until the
moment when she fell foul, only four minutes were given for Lawrence to
act. Before these four minutes were at an end, he was struck and mortally
wounded by a musket-ball from the “Shannon.” His first lieutenant,
Ludlow, had already been carried below, wounded. His second lieutenant,
Budd, was stationed below. His third lieutenant, Cox, improperly assisted
Lawrence to reach the gun-deck. Not an officer remained on the spar-deck,
and neither an officer nor a living man was on the quarter-deck when the
“Chesapeake’s” quarter came against the “Shannon’s” gangway, as though
inviting the British captain to take possession.
As the ships fouled, Broke ran forward and called for boarders. With
about twenty men he stepped on the “Chesapeake’s” quarter-deck, and was
followed by thirty more before the ships parted. The error should have cost
him his life and the lives of all who were with him, for the Americans might
easily have killed every man of the boarding-party in spite of the fire from
the “Shannon.” For several moments Broke was in the utmost peril, not
only from the American crew but from his own. His first lieutenant, Watt,
hastening to haul down the American ensign, was killed by the discharge of
a cannon from the “Shannon;” and when Broke, leaving the “Chesapeake’s”
quarter-deck, went forward to clear the forecastle, enough of the American
crew were there to make a sharp resistance. Broke himself was obliged to
take part in the scuffle. According to his report, he “received a severe sabre-

wound at the first onset, whilst charging a part of the enemy who had rallied
on their forecastle.” According to another British account he was first
knocked down with the butt-end of a musket, and then was cut by a
broadsword. Of his fifty boarders, not less than thirty-seven were killed or
412
wounded.
Had the American crew been in a proper state of discipline, the struggle
would have taken an extraordinary character, and the two ships might have
renewed the combat, without officers, and in a more or less unmanageable
condition. Fortunately for Broke, his fifty men outnumbered the Americans
on the spar-deck, while the men below, for the most part, would not come
up. About a score of sailors and marines were on the forecastle, and about a
dozen more rushed up from below, led by the second lieutenant, George
Budd, as soon as he, at his station on the main-deck, learned what was
happening above; but so rapidly did the whole affair pass, that in two
minutes the scuffle was over, the Americans were killed or thrown down the
hatchway, and the ship was helpless, with its spar-deck in the hands of
Broke’s boarders. The guns ceased firing, and the crew below surrendered
after some musket-shots up and down the hatchways.
The disgrace to the Americans did not consist so much in the loss of a
ship to one of equal force, as in the shame of suffering capture by a
boarding-party of fifty men. As Lawrence lay wounded in the cockpit, he
saw the rush of his men from the spar-deck down the after-ladders, and
cried out repeatedly and loudly, “Don’t give up the ship! blow her up!” He
was said to have added afterward: “I could have stood the wreck if it had
not been for the boarding.”
Doubtless the “Shannon” was the better ship, and deserved to win. Her
crew could under no circumstances have behaved like the crew of the
“Chesapeake.” In discipline she was admittedly superior; but the question
of superiority in other respects was not decided. The accident that cut the
“Chesapeake’s” jib-sheet and brought her into the wind was the only
decisive part of the battle, and was mere ill luck, such as pursued the
“Chesapeake” from the beginning. As far as could be seen, in the favorite
American work of gunnery the “Shannon” showed no superiority.
On that point the reports agreed. The action began at half-past five
o’clock in the afternoon at close range. In seven minutes the “Chesapeake”

forged ahead, came into the wind and ceased firing, as none of her guns
could be made to bear. Seven minutes allowed time at the utmost for two
discharges of some of her guns. No more guns were fired from the
“Chesapeake” till she drifted close to the “Shannon.” Then her two
sternmost guns, the thirteenth and fourteenth on the main deck, again bore
on the enemy, and were depressed and fired by Lieutenant Cox while the
413
boarders were fighting on the spar-deck. Thus the number of discharges
from the “Chesapeake’s” guns could be known within reasonable certainty.
She carried in her broadside nine thirty-two-pounders and fourteen or
fifteen eighteen-pounders, besides one twelve-pounder,—twenty-five guns.
Assuming them to have been all discharged twice, although the forward
guns could scarcely have been discharged more than once, the
“Chesapeake” could have fired only fifty-two shot, including the two
eighteen-pounders fired by Lieutenant Cox at the close.
According to the official report nearly every shot must have taken
effect. The “Shannon” was struck by thirteen thirty-two-pound shot; the
“Chesapeake” fired only eighteen, if she discharged every gun twice. The
“Shannon” was struck by twelve eighteen-pound shot, fourteen bar-shot,
and one hundred and nineteen grape-shot; the “Chesapeake’s” fifteen
eighteen-pounders could hardly have done more in the space of seven
minutes. In truth, every shot that was fired probably took effect.
The casualties showed equal efficiency of fire, and when compared
with other battles were severe. When the “Guerriere” struck to the
“Constitution” in the previous year, she had lost in half an hour of close
action twenty-three killed or mortally wounded and fifty-six more or less
injured. The “Shannon” seems to have lost in eleven minutes, before
boarding, twenty-seven men killed or mortally wounded and nineteen more
414
or less injured.
The relative efficiency of the “Shannon’s” gunnery was not so clear,
because the “Shannon’s” battery continued to fire after the “Chesapeake”
ceased. As the “Chesapeake” drifted down on the “Shannon” she was
exposed to the broadside of the British frigate, while herself unable to fire a
gun.

“The shot from the ‘Shannon’s’ aftermost guns now had a fair
415
range along the ‘Chesapeake’s’ decks,” said the British account,
“beating in the stern-ports and sweeping the men from their quarters.
The shots from the foremost guns at the same time entering the ports
from the mainmast aft did considerable execution.”

416
Broke’s biographer said that the “Chesapeake” fired but one
broadside, and then coming into the wind drifted down, “exposed while
making this crippled and helpless movement to the ‘Shannon’s’ second and
most deliberate broadside.” The “Chesapeake” was very near, almost
touching the British frigate during the four or five minutes of this fire, and
every shot must have taken effect. Broke ordered the firing to cease when
he boarded, but one gun was afterward discharged, and killed the British
first lieutenant as he was lowering the American flag on the “Chesapeake’s”
quarter-deck.
The “Shannon’s” fire lasted eleven or twelve minutes. She carried
417
twenty-five guns in broadside. Eight of these were thirty-two-pound
carronades, and the official report showed that the “Chesapeake” was struck
by twenty-five thirty-two-pound shot, showing that three full broadsides
were fired from the “Shannon,” and at least one gun was discharged four
times. The “Shannon’s” broadside also carried fourteen eighteen-pounders,
which threw twenty-nine shot into the “Chesapeake,” besides much canister
and grape. Considering that at least half the “Shannon’s” shot were fired at
so close a range that they could not fail to take effect, nothing proved that
her guns were better served than those of the “Chesapeake.” The
“Shannon,” according to the British account, fired twice as many shot under
twice as favorable conditions, but the injury she inflicted was not twice the
injury inflicted in return. Setting aside the grape-shot, the “Chesapeake”
struck the “Shannon” thirty-nine times; the “Shannon” struck the
“Chesapeake” fifty-seven times. Including the grape-shot, which Broke
used freely, the “Shannon” probably did better, but even with a liberal
allowance for grape and canister, nothing proved her superiority at the guns.
The loss in men corresponded with the injury to the ships. The
“Shannon” lost eighty-three killed and wounded; the “Chesapeake” lost one
hundred and forty-six. Thirty-three of the “Shannon’s” men were killed or

died of their wounds; sixty-one of the “Chesapeake’s” number were killed
or mortally wounded.
The injuries suffered by the “Chesapeake” told the same story, for they
were chiefly in the stern, and were inflicted by the “Shannon’s” second and
third broadsides, after the “Chesapeake” ceased firing. The “Chesapeake’s”
bowsprit received no injury, and not a spar of any kind was shot away. The
“Shannon” carried her prize into Halifax with all its masts standing, and
without anxiety for its safety.
The news of Broke’s victory was received in England and by the
British navy with an outburst of pleasure that proved the smart of the
wound inflicted by Hull, Decatur, and Bainbridge. The two official
expressions of Broke’s naval and civil superiors probably reflected the
unexaggerated emotion of the service.

418
“At this critical moment,” wrote Admiral Warren by a curious
coincidence the day before his own somewhat less creditable defeat at
Craney Island, “you could not have restored to the British naval service
the pre-eminence it has always preserved, or contradicted in a more
forcible manner the foul aspersions and calumnies of a conceited,
boasting enemy, than by the brilliant act you have performed.”

419
A few days later he wrote again: —

“The relation of such an event restores the history of ancient times,
and will do more good to the service than it is possible to conceive.”

420
In Parliament, July 8, John Wilson Croker said:

“The action which he [Broke] fought with the ‘Chesapeake’ was in
every respect unexampled. It was not—and he knew it was a bold
assertion which he made—to be surpassed by any engagement which
graced the naval annals of Great Britain.”

The Government made Broke a baronet, but gave him few other
rewards, and his wound was too serious to permit future hard service.
Lawrence died June 5, before the ships reached Halifax. His first lieutenant,
Ludlow, also died. Their bodies were brought to New York and buried
September 16, with formal services at Trinity Church.
By the Americans the defeat was received at first with incredulity and
boundless anxiety, followed by extreme discouragement. The news came at
a dark moment, when every hope had been disappointed and the outlook
was gloomy beyond all that had been thought possible.

“I remember,” wrote Richard Rush in later life,—“what American
does not!—the first rumor of it. I remember the startling sensation. I
remember at first the universal incredulity. I remember how the post-
offices were thronged for successive days by anxious thousands; how
collections of citizens rode out for miles on the highway, accosting the
mail to catch something by anticipation. At last, when the certainty was
known, I remember the public gloom; funeral orations and badges of
mourning bespoke it. ‘Don’t give up the ship!’—the dying words of
Lawrence—were on every tongue.”

Six weeks afterward another American naval captain lost another
American vessel-of-war by reason of the same over-confidence which
caused Lawrence’s mistakes, and in a manner equally discreditable to the
crew. The “Argus” was a small brig, built in 1803, rating sixteen guns. In
the summer of 1813 she was commanded by Captain W. H. Allen, of Rhode
Island, who had been third officer to Barron when he was attacked in the
“Chesapeake” by the “Leopard.” Allen was the officer who snatched a coal
from the galley and discharged the only gun that was fired that day. On
leaving the “Chesapeake,” Allen was promoted to be first officer in the
“United States.” To his exertions in training the men to the guns, Decatur
attributed his superiority in gunnery over the “Macedonian.” To him fell
one of the most distinguished honors that ever came to the share of an
American naval officer,—that of successfully bringing the “Macedonian” to
port. Promoted to the rank of captain, he was put in command of the
“Argus,” and ordered to take William Henry Crawford to his post as
Minister to France.

On that errand the “Argus” sailed, June 18, and after safely landing
Crawford, July 11, at Lorient in Brittany, Captain Allen put to sea again,
three days afterward, and in pursuance of his instructions cruised off the
mouth of the British Channel. During an entire month he remained between
the coast of Brittany and the coast of Ireland, destroying a score of vessels
and creating a panic among the ship-owners and underwriters of London.
Allen performed his task with as much forbearance as the duty permitted,
making no attempt to save his prizes for the sake of prize-money, and
permitting all passengers to take what they claimed as their own without
inspection or restraint. The English whose property he destroyed spoke of
him without personal ill-feeling.
The anxiety and labor of such a service falling on a brig of three
hundred tons and a crew of a hundred men, and the impunity with which he
defied danger, seemed to make Allen reckless. On the night of August 13 he
captured a brig laden with wine from Oporto. Within sight of the Welsh
coast and within easy reach of Milford Haven, he burned his prize, not
before part of his crew got drunk on the wine. The British brig “Pelican,”
then cruising in search of the “Argus,” guided by the light of the burning
prize, at five o’clock on the morning of August 14 came down on the
American brig; and Captain Allen, who had often declared that he would
run from no two-masted vessel, waited for his enemy.
According to British measurements, the “Argus” was ninety-five and
one-half feet long; the “Pelican,” one hundred. The “Argus” was twenty-
seven feet, seven and five-eighths inches in extreme breadth; the “Pelican”
was thirty feet, nine inches. The “Argus” carried eighteen twenty-four-
pound carronades, and two long twelve-pounders; the “Pelican” carried
sixteen thirty-two-pound carronades, four long six-pounders, and a twelve-
pound carronade. The number of the “Argus’s” crew was disputed.
421
According to British authority, it was one hundred and twenty-seven,
422
while the “Pelican” carried one hundred and sixteen men and boys.
423
At six o’clock in the morning, according to American reckoning, —at
half-past five according to the British report,—the “Argus” wore, and fired
a broadside within grape-distance, which was returned with cannon and
musketry. Within five minutes Captain Allen was struck by a shot which
carried away his left leg, mortally wounding him; and five minutes

afterward the first lieutenant was wounded on the head by a grape-shot.
Although the second lieutenant fought the brig well, the guns were
surprisingly inefficient. During the first fifteen minutes the “Argus” had the
advantage of position, and at eighteen minutes after six raked the “Pelican”
at close range, but inflicted no great injury on the enemy’s hull or rigging,
and killed at the utmost but one man, wounding only five. According to an
424
English account, “the ‘Argus’ fought well while the cannonading
continued, but her guns were not levelled with precision, and many shots
passed through the ‘Pelican’s’ royals.” The “Pelican,” at the end of twenty-
five minutes, succeeded in cutting up her opponent’s rigging so that the
“Argus” lay helpless under her guns. The “Pelican” then took a position on
her enemy’s starboard quarter, and raked her with eight thirty-two-pound
carronades for nearly twenty minutes at close range, without receiving a
shot in return except from musketry. According to the report of the British
captain, the action “was kept up with great spirit on both sides forty-three
minutes, when we lay her alongside, and were in the act of boarding when
425
she struck her colors.”
The “Argus” repeated the story of the “Chesapeake,” except that the
action lasted three quarters of an hour instead of fifteen minutes. During
that time, the “Pelican” should have fired all her broadside eight or ten
times into the “Argus” at a range so close that no shot should have missed.
Sixty thirty-two-pound shot fired into a small brig less than one hundred
feet long should have shivered it to atoms. Nine thirty-two-pound shot from
the “Hornet” seemed to reduce the “Peacock” to a sinking condition in
fifteen minutes; yet the “Argus” was neither sunk nor dismasted. The
British account of her condition after the battle showed no more injury than
was suffered by the “Peacock,” even in killed and wounded, by one or at the
utmost two broadsides of the “Hornet.”

“The ‘Argus’ was tolerably cut up in her hull. Both her lower
masts were wounded, although not badly, and her fore-shrouds on one
side nearly all destroyed; but like the ‘Chesapeake,’ the ‘Argus’ had no
spar shot away. Of her carronades several were disabled. She lost in the
action six seamen killed; her commander, two midshipmen, the
carpenter, and three seamen mortally, her first lieutenant and five

seamen severely, and eight others slightly wounded,—total twenty-
426
four; chiefly, if not wholly by the cannon-shot of the ‘Pelican.’”

The “Pelican” lost seven men killed or wounded, chiefly by musketry.
On both sides the battle showed little skill with the guns; but perhaps the
“Pelican,” considering her undisputed superiority during half the combat,
showed even less than the “Argus.” As in the “Chesapeake’s” battle, the
discredit of the defeated ship lay in surrender to boarders.
Two such defeats were calculated to shake confidence in the American
navy. That Allen should have been beaten in gunnery was the more strange,
because his training with the guns gave him his chief credit with Decatur.
Watson, the second lieutenant of the “Argus,” attributed the defeat to the
fatigue of his crew. Whatever was the immediate cause, no one could doubt
that both the “Chesapeake” and “Argus” were sacrificed to the over-
confidence of their commanders.

CHAPTER XIII.
The people of the Atlantic coast felt the loss of the “Chesapeake” none
too keenly. Other nations had a history to support them in moments of
mortification, or had learned by centuries of experience to accept turns of
fortune as the fate of war. The American of the sea-coast was not only
sensitive and anxious, but he also saw with singular clearness the bearing of
every disaster, and did not see with equal distinctness the general drift of
success. The loss of the “Chesapeake” was a terrible disaster, not merely
because it announced the quick recovery of England’s pride and power from
a momentary shock, but also because it threatened to take away the single
object of American enthusiasm which redeemed shortcomings elsewhere.
After the loss of the “Chesapeake,” no American frigate was allowed the
opportunity to fight with an equal enemy. The British frigates, ordered to
cruise in company, gave the Americans no chance to renew their triumphs
of 1812.
Indeed, the experience of 1813 tended to show that the frigate was no
longer the class of vessel best suited to American wants. Excessively
expensive compared with their efficiency, the “Constitution,” “President,”
and “United States” could only with difficulty obtain crews; and when after
much delay they were ready for sea, they could not easily evade a
blockading squadron. The original cost of a frigate varied from two hundred
thousand dollars to three hundred thousand; that of a sloop-of-war, like the
“Hornet,” “Wasp,” or “Argus,” varied between forty and fifty thousand
dollars. The frigate required a crew of about four hundred men; the sloop
carried about one hundred and fifty. The annual expense of a frigate in
active service was about one hundred and thirty-four thousand dollars; that
of the brig was sixty thousand. The frigate required much time and heavy
timber in her construction; the sloop could be built quickly and of ordinary
material. The loss of a frigate was a severe national disaster; the loss of a
sloop was not a serious event.

For defensive purposes neither the frigate nor the brig counted heavily
against a nation which employed ships-of-the-line by dozens; but even for
offensive objects the frigate was hardly so useful as the sloop-of-war. The
record of the frigates for 1813 showed no results equivalent to their cost.
Their cruises were soon told. The “President,” leaving Boston April 30, ran
across to the Azores, thence to the North Sea, and during June and July
haunted the shores of Norway, Scotland, and Ireland, returning to Newport
September 27, having taken thirteen prizes. The “Congress,” which left
Boston with the “President,” cruised nearly eight months in the Atlantic,
and returned to Boston December 14, having captured but four
merchantmen. The “Chesapeake,” which sailed from Boston Dec. 13, 1812,
cruised four months in the track of British commerce, past Madeira and
Cape de Verde, across the equator, and round through the West Indies,
returning to Boston April 9, having taken six prizes; at the beginning of her
next cruise, June 1, the “Chesapeake” was herself captured. The adventures
of the “Essex” in the Pacific were such as might have been equally well
performed by a sloop-of-war, and belonged rather to the comparative
freedom with which the frigates moved in 1812 than to the difficult
situation that followed. No other frigates succeeded in getting to sea till
December 4, when the “President” sailed again. The injury inflicted by the
frigates on the Atlantic was therefore the capture of twenty-three
merchantmen in a year. At the close of 1813, the “President” and the
“Essex” were the only frigates at sea; the “Constitution” sailed from Boston
only Jan. 1, 1814; the “United States” and “Macedonian” were blockaded at
New London; the “Constellation” was still at Norfolk; the “Adams” was at
Washington, and the “Congress” at Boston.
When this record was compared with that of the sloops-of-war the
frigates were seen to be luxuries. The sloop-of-war was a single-decked
vessel, rigged sometimes as a ship, sometimes as a brig, but never as a
sloop, measuring about one hundred and ten feet in length by thirty in
breadth, and carrying usually eighteen thirty-two-pound carronades and two
long twelve-pounders. Of this class the American navy possessed in 1812
only four examples,—the “Hornet,” the “Wasp,” the “Argus,” and the
“Syren.” The “Wasp” was lost Oct. 18, 1812, after capturing the “Frolic.”
The “Syren” remained at New Orleans during the first year of the war, and
then came to Boston, but saw no ocean service of importance during 1813.
The “Hornet” made three prizes, including the sloop-of-war “Peacock,” and

was then blockaded with the “United States” and “Macedonian;” but the
smaller vessel could do what the frigates could not, and in November the
“Hornet” slipped out of New London and made her way to New York,
where she waited an opportunity to escape to sea. The story will show her
success. Finally, the “Argus” cruised for a month in the British Channel,
and made twenty-one prizes before she was captured by the “Pelican.”
The three frigates, “President,” “Congress,” and “Chesapeake,”
captured twenty-three prizes in the course of the year, and lost the
“Chesapeake.” The two sloops, the “Hornet” and “Argus,” captured twenty-
four prizes, including the sloop-of-war “Peacock,” and lost the “Argus.”
The government at the beginning of the war owned four smaller
vessels,—the “Nautilus” and “Vixen” of fourteen guns, and the “Enterprise”
and “Viper” of twelve. Another brig, the “Rattlesnake,” sixteen, was
bought. Experience seemed to prove that these were of little use. The
“Nautilus” fell into the hands of Broke’s squadron July 16, 1812, within a
month after the declaration of war. The “Vixen” was captured Nov. 22,
1812, by Sir James Yeo. The “Viper,” Jan. 17, 1813, became prize to
Captain Lumley in the British frigate “Narcissus.” The “Enterprise”
distinguished itself by capturing the “Boxer,” and was regarded as a lucky
427
vessel, but was never a good or fast one. The “Rattlesnake,” though fast,
was at last caught on a lee shore by the frigate “Leander,” July 11, 1814,
428
and carried into Halifax.
In the enthusiasm over the frigates in 1812, Congress voted that six
forty-fours should be built, besides four ships-of-the-line. The Act was
approved Jan. 2, 1813. Not until March 3 did Congress pass an Act for
building six new sloops-of-war. The loss of two months was not the only
misfortune in this legislation. Had the sloops been begun in January, they
might have gone to sea by the close of the year. The six sloops were all
launched within eleven months from the passage of the bill, and the first of
them, the “Frolic,” got to sea within that time, while none of the frigates or
line-of-battle ships could get to sea within two years of the passage of the
law. A more remarkable oversight was the building of only six sloops, when
an equal number of forty-fours and four seventy-fours were ordered. Had
Congress voted twenty-four sloops, the proportion would not have been
improper; but perhaps the best policy would have been to build fifty such

sloops, and to prohibit privateering. The reasons for such a course were best
seen in the experiences of the privateers.
The history of the privateers was never satisfactorily written. Neither
their number, their measurements, their force, their captures, nor their losses
were accurately known. Little ground could be given for an opinion in
regard to their economy. Only with grave doubt could any judgment be
reached even in regard to their relative efficiency compared with
government vessels of the same class. Yet their experience was valuable,
and their services were very great.
In the summer of 1812 any craft that could keep the sea in fine weather
set out as a privateer to intercept vessels approaching the coast. The typical
privateer of the first few months was the pilot-boat, armed with one or two
long-nine or twelve-pound guns. Of twenty-six privateers sent from New
York in the first four months of war, fifteen carried crews of eighty men or
less. These small vessels especially infested the West Indies, where fine
weather and light breezes suited their qualities. After the seas had been
cleared of such prey as these petty marauders could manage, they were
found to be unprofitable,—too small to fight and too light to escape. The
typical privateer of 1813 was a larger vessel,—a brig or schooner of two or
three hundred tons, armed with one long pivot-gun, and six or eight lighter
guns in broadside; carrying crews which varied in number from one
hundred and twenty to one hundred and sixty men; swift enough to escape
under most circumstances even a frigate, and strong enough to capture any
armed merchantman.
After the war was fairly begun, the British mercantile shipping always
sailed either under convoy or as armed “running ships” that did not wait for
the slow and comparatively rare opportunities of convoy, but trusted to their
guns for defence. The new American privateer was adapted to meet both
chances. Two or three such craft hanging about a convoy could commonly
cut off some merchantman, no matter how careful the convoying man-of-
war might be. By night they could run directly into the fleet and cut out
vessels without even giving an alarm, and by day they could pick up any
craft that lagged behind or happened to stray too far away. Yet the “running
ships” were the chief objects of their search, for these were the richest
prizes; and the capture of a single such vessel, if it reached an American
port in safety, insured success to the cruise. The loss of these vessels caused

peculiar annoyance to the British, for they sometimes carried considerable
amounts of specie, and usually were charged with a mail which was always
sunk and lost in case of capture.
As the war continued, experience taught the owners of privateers the
same lesson that was taught to the government. The most efficient vessel of
war corresponded in size with the “Hornet” or the new sloops-of-war
building in 1813. Tonnage was so arbitrary a mode of measurement that
little could be learned from the dimensions of five hundred tons commonly
given for these vessels; but in a general way they might be regarded as
about one hundred and fifteen or one hundred and twenty feet long on the
spar-deck and thirty-one feet in extreme breadth. Unless such vessels were
swift sailers, particularly handy in working to windward, they were worse
than useless; and for that reason the utmost effort was made both by the
public and private constructors to obtain speed. At the close of the war the
most efficient vessel afloat was probably the American sloop-of-war, or
privateer, of four or five hundred tons, rigged as a ship or brig, and carrying
one hundred and fifty or sixty men, with a battery varying according to the
ideas of the captain and owners, but in the case of privateers almost
invariably including one “long Tom,” or pivot-gun.
Yet for privateering purposes the smaller craft competed closely with
the larger. For ordinary service no vessel could do more effective work in a
more economical way than was done by Joshua Barney’s “Rossie” of
Baltimore, or Boyle’s “Comet” of the same port, or Champlin’s “General
Armstrong” of New York,—schooners or brigs of two or three hundred
tons, uncomfortable to their officers and crews, but most dangerous enemies
to merchantmen. Vessels of this class came into favor long before the war,
because of their speed, quickness in handling, and economy during the
experience of twenty years in blockade-running and evasion of cruisers.
Such schooners could be built in any Northern sea-port in six weeks or two
months at half the cost of a government cruiser.
The government sloop-of-war was not built for privateering purposes.
Every government vessel was intended chiefly to fight, and required
strength in every part and solidity throughout. The frame needed to be
heavy to support the heavier structure; the quarters needed to be thick to
protect the men at the guns from grape and musketry; the armament was as
weighty as the frame would bear. So strong were the sides of American

frigates that even thirty-two-pound shot fired at forty or fifty feet distance
sometimes failed to penetrate, and the British complained as a grievance
that the sides of an American forty-four were thicker than those of a British
429
seventy-four. The American ship-builders spared no pains to make all
their vessels in every respect—in size, strength, and speed—superior to the
vessels with which they were to compete; but the government ship-
carpenter had a harder task than the private ship-builder, for he was obliged
to obtain greater speed at the same time that he used heavier material than
the British constructors. As far as the navy carpenters succeeded in their
double object, they did so by improving the model and increasing the
proportions of the spars.
The privateer was built for no such object. The last purpose of a
privateer was to fight at close range, and owners much preferred that their
vessels, being built to make money, should not fight at all unless much
money could be made. The private armed vessel was built rather to fly than
to fight, and its value depended far more on its ability to escape than on its
capacity to attack. If the privateer could sail close to the wind, and wear or
tack in the twinkling of an eye; if she could spread an immense amount of
canvas and run off as fast as a frigate before the wind; if she had sweeps to
use in a calm, and one long-range gun pivoted amidships, with plenty of
men in case boarding became necessary,—she was perfect. To obtain these
results the builders and sailors ran excessive risks. Too lightly built and too
heavily sparred, the privateer was never a comfortable or a safe vessel.
Beautiful beyond anything then known in naval construction, such vessels
roused boundless admiration, but defied imitators. British constructors
could not build them, even when they had the models; British captains
could not sail them; and when British admirals, fascinated by their beauty
and tempted by the marvellous qualities of their model, ordered such a prize
to be taken into the service, the first act of the carpenters in the British
navy-yards was to reduce to their own standard the long masts, and to
strengthen the hull and sides till the vessel should be safe in a battle or a
gale. Perhaps an American navy-carpenter must have done the same; but
though not a line in the model might be altered, she never sailed again as
she sailed before. She could not bear conventional restraints.
Americans were proud of their privateers, as they well might be; for
this was the first time when in competition with the world, on an element

open to all, they proved their capacity to excel, and produced a creation as
beautiful as it was practical. The British navy took a new tone in regard to
these vessels. Deeply as the American frigates and sloops-of-war had
wounded the pride of the British navy, they never had reduced that fine
service to admitted inferiority. Under one pretext or another, every defeat
was excused. Even the superiority of American gunnery was met by the
proud explanation that the British navy, since Trafalgar, had enjoyed no
opportunity to use their guns. Nothing could convince a British admiral that
Americans were better fighters than Englishmen; but when he looked at the
American schooner he frankly said that England could show no such
models, and could not sail them if she had them. In truth, the schooner was
a wonderful invention. Not her battles, but her escapes won for her the
open-mouthed admiration of the British captains, who saw their prize
double like a hare and slip through their fingers at the moment when
capture was sure. Under any ordinary condition of wind and weather, with
an open sea, the schooner, if only she could get to windward, laughed at a
frigate.
As the sailing rather than the fighting qualities of the privateer were the
chief object of her construction, those were the points best worth recording;
but the newspapers of the time were so much absorbed in proving that
Americans could fight, as to cause almost total neglect of the more
important question whether Americans could sail better than their rivals. All
great nations had fought, and at one time or another every great nation in
Europe had been victorious over every other; but no people, in the course of
a thousand years of rivalry on the ocean, had invented or had known how to
sail a Yankee schooner. Whether ship, brig, schooner, or sloop, the
American vessel was believed to outsail any other craft on the ocean, and
the proof of this superiority was incumbent on the Americans to furnish.
They neglected to do so. No clear evidence was ever recorded of the precise
capacities of their favorite vessels. Neither the lines of the hull, the
dimensions of the spars, the rates of sailing by the log in different weather,
the points of sailing,—nothing precise was ever set down.
Of the superiority no doubts could be entertained. The best proof of the
American claim was the British admission. Hardly an English writer on
marine affairs—whether in newspapers, histories, or novels—failed to make
some allusion to the beauty and speed of American vessels. The naval

literature of Great Britain from 1812 to 1860 was full of such material. The
praise of the invention was still commonly accompanied by some
expression of dislike for the inventor, but even in that respect a marked
change followed the experiences of 1812–1814. Among the Englishmen
living on the island of Jamaica, and familiar with the course of events in the
West Indies from 1806 to 1817, was one Michael Scott, born in Glasgow in
1789, and in the prime of his youth at the time of the American war. In the
year 1829, at the age of forty, he began the publication in “Blackwood’s
Magazine” of a series of sketches which rapidly became popular as “Tom
Cringle’s Log.” Scott was the best narrator and probably the best informed
man who wrote on the West Indies at that period; and his frequent allusions
to the United States and the war threw more light on the social side of
history than could be obtained from all official sources ever printed.

“I don’t like Americans,” Scott said; “I never did and never shall
like them. I have seldom met an American gentleman in the large and
complete sense of the term. I have no wish to eat with them, drink with
them, deal with or consort with them in any way; but let me tell the
whole truth,—nor fight with them, were it not for the laurels to be
acquired by overcoming an enemy so brave, determined, and alert, and
every way so worthy of one’s steel as they have always proved.”

The Americans did not fight the War of 1812 in order to make
themselves loved. According to Scott’s testimony they gained the object for
which they did fight. “In gunnery and small-arm practice we were as
thoroughly weathered on by the Americans during the war as we
overtopped them in the bull-dog courage with which our boarders handled
those genuine English weapons,—the cutlass and the pike.” Superiority in
the intellectual branches of warfare was conceded to the Americans; but
even in regard to physical qualities, the British were not inclined to boast.

“In the field,” said Scott, “or grappling in mortal combat on the
blood-slippery quarter-deck of an enemy’s vessel, a British soldier or
sailor is the bravest of the brave. No soldier or sailor of any other
country, saving and excepting those damned Yankees, can stand against
them.”

Had English society known so much of Americans in 1807, war would
have been unnecessary.
Yet neither equality in physical courage nor superiority in the higher
branches of gunnery and small-arms was the chief success of Americans in
the war. Beyond question the schooner was the most conclusive triumph.
Readers of Michael Scott could not forget the best of his sketches,—the
escape of the little American schooner “Wave” from two British cruisers, by
running to windward under the broadside of a man-of-war. With keen
appreciation Scott detailed every motion of the vessels, and dwelt with
peculiar emphasis on the apparent desperation of the attempt. Again and
again the thirty-two-pound shot, as he described the scene, tore through the
slight vessel as the two crafts raced through the heavy seas within musket-
shot of one another, until at last the firing from the corvette ceased. “The
breeze had taken off, and the ‘Wave,’ resuming her superiority in light
winds, had escaped.” Yet this was not the most significant part of “Tom
Cringle’s” experience. The “Wave,” being afterward captured at anchor,
was taken into the royal service and fitted as a ship-of-war. Cringle was
ordered by the vice-admiral to command her, and as she came to report he
took a look at her:—

“When I had last seen her she was a most beautiful little craft, both
in hull and rigging, as ever delighted the eye of a sailor; but the dock-
yard riggers and carpenters had fairly bedevilled her, at least so far as
appearances went. First they had replaced the light rail on her gunwale
by heavy solid bulwarks four feet high, surmounted by hammock
nettings at least another foot; so that the symmetrical little vessel that
formerly floated on the foam light as a sea-gull now looked like a
clumsy, dish-shaped Dutch dogger. Her long, slender wands of masts
which used to swing about as if there were neither shrouds nor stays to
support them were now as taut and stiff as church-steeples, with four
heavy shrouds of a side, and stays and back-stays, and the Devil knows
what all.”

“If them heave-‘emtaughts at the yard have not taken the speed out of
the little beauty I am a Dutchman” was the natural comment,—as obvious
as it was sound.

The reports of privateer captains to their owners were rarely published,
and the logs were never printed or deposited in any public office.
Occasionally, in the case of a battle or the loss of guns or spars or cargo in a
close pursuit, the privateer captain described the causes of his loss in a letter
which found its way into print; and from such letters some idea could be
drawn of the qualities held in highest regard, both in their vessels and in
themselves. The first and commonest remark was that privateers of any
merit never seemed to feel anxious for their own safety so long as they
could get to windward a couple of gunshots from their enemy. They would
risk a broadside in the process without very great anxiety. They chiefly
feared lest they might be obliged to run before the wind in heavy weather.
The little craft which could turn on itself like a flash and dart away under a
frigate’s guns into the wind’s eye long before the heavy ship could come
about, had little to fear on that point of sailing; but when she was obliged to
run to leeward, the chances were more nearly equal. Sometimes, especially
in light breezes or in a stronger wind, by throwing guns and weighty articles
overboard privateers could escape; but in heavy weather the ship-of-war
could commonly outcarry them, and more often could drive them on a coast
or into the clutches of some other man-of-war.
Of being forced to fly to leeward almost every privateer could tell
interesting stories. A fair example of such tales was an adventure of Captain
George Coggeshall, who afterward compiled, chiefly from newspapers, an
account of the privateers, among which he preserved a few stories that
430
would otherwise have been lost. Coggeshall commanded a two-hundred-
ton schooner, the “David Porter,” in which he made the run to France with a
cargo and a letter-of-marque. The schooner was at Bordeaux in March,
1814, when Wellington’s army approached. Afraid of seizure by the British
if he remained at Bordeaux, Coggeshall sailed from Bordeaux for La
Rochelle with a light wind from the eastward, when at daylight March 15,
1814, he found a large ship about two miles to windward. Coggeshall tried
to draw his enemy down to leeward, but only lost ground until the ship was
not more than two gunshots away. The schooner could then not run to
windward without taking the enemy’s fire within pistol-shot, and dared not
return to Bordeaux. Nothing remained but to run before the wind.
Coggeshall got out his square-sail and studding-sails ready to set, and when
everything was prepared he changed his course and bore off suddenly,

gaining a mile in the six or eight minutes lost by the ship in spreading her
studding-sails. He then started his water-casks, threw out ballast, and drew
away from his pursuer, till in a few hours the ship became a speck on the
horizon.
Apparently a similar but narrower escape was made by Captain
Champlin of the “Warrior,” a famous privateer-brig of four hundred and
thirty tons, mounting twenty-one guns and carrying one hundred and fifty
431
men. Standing for the harbor of Fayal, Dec. 15, 1814, he was seen by a
British man-of-war lying there at anchor. The enemy slipped her cables and
made sail in chase. The weather was very fresh and squally, and at eight
o’clock in the evening the ship was only three miles distant. After a run of
about sixty miles, the man-of-war came within grape-shot distance and
opened fire from her two bow-guns. Champlin luffed a little, got his long
pivot-gun to bear, and ran out his starboard guns as though to fight, which
caused the ship to shorten sail for battle. Then Champlin at two o’clock in
the morning threw overboard eleven guns, and escaped. The British ship
was in sight the next morning, but did not pursue farther.
Often the privateers were obliged to throw everything overboard at the
risk of capsizing, or escaped capture only by means of their sweeps. In 1813
Champlin commanded the “General Armstrong,” a brig of two hundred and
forty-six tons and one hundred and forty men. Off Surinam, March 11,
1813, he fell in with the British sloop-of-war “Coquette,” which he mistook
for a letter-of-marque, and approached with the intention of boarding.
Having come within pistol-shot and fired his broadsides, he discovered his
error. The wind was light, the two vessels had no headway, and for three
quarters of an hour, if Champlin’s account could be believed, he lay within
pistol-shot of the man-of-war. He was struck by a musket-ball in the left
shoulder; six of his crew were killed and fourteen wounded; his rigging was
cut to pieces; his foremast and bowsprit injured, and several shots entered
the brig between wind and water, causing her to leak; but at last he
succeeded in making sail forward, and with the aid of his sweeps crept out
432
of range. The sloop-of-war was unable to cripple or follow him.
Sometimes the very perfection of the privateer led to dangers as great
as though perfection were a fault. Captain Shaler of the “Governor
Tompkins,” a schooner, companion to the “General Armstrong,” chased

three sail Dec. 25, 1812, and on near approach found them to be two ships
and a brig. The larger ship had the appearance of a government transport;
she had boarding-nettings almost up to her tops, but her ports appeared to
be painted, and she seemed prepared for running away as she fought. Shaler
drew nearer, and came to the conclusion that the ship was too heavy for
him; but while his first officer went forward with the glass to take another
look, a sudden squall struck the schooner without reaching the ship, and in a
moment, before the light sails could be taken in, “and almost before I could
turn round, I was under the guns, not of a transport, but of a large frigate,
and not more than a quarter of a mile from her.” With impudence that
warranted punishment, Shaler fired his little broadside of nine or twelve
pounders into the enemy, who replied with a broadside of twenty-four-
pounders, killing three men, wounding five, and causing an explosion on
deck that threw confusion into the crew; but the broadside did no serious
injury to the rigging. The schooner was then just abaft the ship’s beam, a
quarter of a mile away, holding the same course and to windward. She
could not tack without exposing her stern to a raking fire, and any failure to
come about would have been certain destruction. Shaler stood on, taking the
ship’s fire, on the chance of outsailing his enemy before a shot could
disable the schooner. Side by side the two vessels raced for half an hour,
while twenty-four-pound shot fell in foam about the schooner, but never
struck her, and at last she drew ahead beyond range. Even then her dangers
were not at an end. A calm followed; the ship put out boats; and only by
throwing deck-lumber and shot overboard, and putting all hands at the
sweeps, did Shaler “get clear of one of the most quarrelsome companions
433
that I ever met with.”
The capacities of the American privateer could to some extent be
inferred from its mishaps. Notwithstanding speed, skill, and caution, the
privateer was frequently and perhaps usually captured in the end. The
modes of capture were numerous. April 3, 1813, Admiral Warren’s
squadron in the Chesapeake captured by boats, after a sharp action, the
privateer “Dolphin” of Baltimore, which had taken refuge in the
Rappahannock River. April 27 the “Tom” of Baltimore, a schooner of
nearly three hundred tons, carrying fourteen guns, was captured by his
Majesty’s ships “Surveillante” and “Lyra” after a smart chase. Captain
Collier of the “Surveillante” reported: “She is a remarkably fine vessel of

her class, and from her superior sailing has already escaped from eighteen
of his Majesty’s cruisers.” May 11, the “Holkar” of New York was driven
ashore off Rhode Island and destroyed by the “Orpheus” frigate. May 19,
Captain Gordon of the British man-of-war “Ratler,” in company with the
schooner “Bream,” drove ashore and captured the “Alexander” of Salem,
off Kennebunk, “considered the fastest sailing privateer out of the United
434
States,” according to Captain Gordon’s report. May 21, Captain Hyde
Parker of the frigate “Tenedos,” in company with the brig “Curlew,”
captured the “Enterprise” of Salem, pierced for eighteen guns. May 23, the
“Paul Jones,” of sixteen guns and one hundred and twenty men, fell in with
a frigate in a thick fog off the coast of Ireland, and being crippled by her
fire surrendered. July 13, Admiral Cockburn captured by boats at Ocracoke
Inlet the fine privateer-brig “Anaconda” of New York, with a smaller letter-
of-marque. July 17, at sea, three British men-of-war, after a chase of four
hours, captured the “Yorktown” of twenty guns and one hundred and forty
men. The schooner “Orders in Council” of New York, carrying sixteen guns
and one hundred and twenty men, was captured during the summer, after a
long chase of five days, by three British cutters that drove her under the
guns of a frigate. The “Matilda,” privateer of eleven guns and one hundred
and four men, was captured off San Salvador by attempting to board the
British letter-of-marque “Lyon” under the impression that she was the
weaker ship.
In these ten instances of large privateers captured or destroyed in 1813,
the mode of capture happened to be recorded; and in none of them was the
privateer declared to have been outsailed and caught by any single British
vessel on the open seas. Modes of disaster were many, and doubtless among
the rest a privateer might occasionally be fairly beaten in speed, but few
such cases were recorded, although British naval officers were quick to
mention these unusual victories. Unless the weather gave to the heavier
British vessel-of-war the advantage of carrying more sail in a rough sea, the
privateer was rarely outsailed.
The number of privateers at sea in 1813 was not recorded. The list of
all private armed vessels during the entire war included somewhat more
435
than five hundred names. Most of these were small craft, withdrawn after
a single cruise. Not two hundred were so large as to carry crews of fifty
men. Nearly two hundred and fifty, or nearly half the whole number of

privateers, fell into British hands. Probably at no single moment were more
than fifty seagoing vessels on the ocean as privateers, and the number was
usually very much less; while the large privateer-brigs or ships that rivalled
sloops-of-war in size were hardly more numerous than the sloops
themselves.
The total number of prizes captured from the British in 1813 exceeded
four hundred, four fifths of which were probably captured by privateers,
national cruisers taking only seventy-nine. If the privateers succeeded in
taking three hundred and fifty prizes, the whole number of privateers could
scarcely have exceeded one hundred. The government cruisers “President,”
“Congress,” “Chesapeake,” “Hornet,” and “Argus” averaged nearly ten
prizes apiece. Privateers averaged much less; but they were ten times as
numerous as the government cruisers, and inflicted four times as much
injury.
Such an addition to the naval force of the United States was very
important. Doubtless the privateers contributed more than the regular navy
to bring about a disposition for peace in the British classes most responsible
for the war. The colonial and shipping interests, whose influence produced
the Orders in Council, suffered the chief penalty. The West India colonies
were kept in constant discomfort and starvation by swarms of semi-piratical
craft darting in and out of every channel among their islands; but the people
of England could have borne with patience the punishment of the West
Indies had not the American cruisers inflicted equally severe retribution
nearer home.
Great Britain was blockaded. No one could deny that manifest danger
existed to any merchant-vessel that entered or left British waters. During
the summer the blockade was continuous. Toward the close of 1812 an
American named Preble, living in Paris, bought a small vessel, said to have
belonged in turn to the British and French navy, which he fitted as a
privateer-brig, carrying sixteen guns and one hundred and sixty men. The
“True-Blooded Yankee,” commanded by Captain Hailey, sailed from Brest
March 1, 1813, and cruised thirty-seven days on the coasts of Ireland and
Scotland, capturing twenty-seven valuable vessels; sinking coasters in the
very bay of Dublin; landing and taking possession of an island off the coast
of Ireland, and of a town in Scotland, where she burned seven vessels in the
harbor. She returned safely to Brest, and soon made another cruise. At the

same time the schooner “Fox” of Portsmouth burned or sunk vessel after
vessel in the Irish Sea, as they plied between Liverpool and Cork. In May,
the schooner “Paul Jones” of New York, carrying sixteen guns and one
hundred and twenty men, took or destroyed a dozen vessels off the Irish
coast, until she was herself caught in a fog by the frigate “Leonidas,” and
captured May 23 after a chase in which five of her crew were wounded.
While these vessels were thus engaged, the brig “Rattlesnake” of
Philadelphia, carrying sixteen guns and one hundred and twenty men, and
the brig “Scourge” of New York, carrying nine guns and one hundred and
ten men, crossed the ocean and cruised all the year in the northern seas off
the coasts of Scotland and Norway, capturing some forty British vessels,
and costing the British merchants and ship-owners losses to the amount of
at least two million dollars. In July the “Scourge” fell in with Commodore
Rodgers in the “President,” and the two vessels remained several days in
company off the North Cape, while the British admiralty sent three or four
squadrons in search of them without success. July 19, after Rodgers had
been nearly a month in British waters, one of these squadrons drove him
away, and he then made a circuit round Ireland before he turned homeward.
At the same time, from July 14 to August 14, the “Argus” was destroying
vessels in the British Channel at the rate of nearly one a day. After the
capture of the “Argus,” August 14, the “Grand Turk” of Salem, a brig
carrying sixteen guns and one hundred and five men, cruised for twenty
days in the mouth of the British Channel without being disturbed. Besides
these vessels, others dashed into British waters from time to time as they
sailed forward and back across the ocean in the track of British commerce.
No one disputed that the privateers were a very important branch of the
American navy; but they suffered under serious drawbacks, which left
doubtful the balance of merits and defects. Perhaps their chief advantage
compared with government vessels was their lightness,—a quality which no
government would have carried to the same extent. The long-range pivot-
gun was another invention of the privateer, peculiarly successful and easily
adapted for government vessels. In other respects, the same number or even
half the number of sloops-of-war would have probably inflicted greater
injury at less cost. The “Argus” showed how this result could have been
attained. The privateer’s first object was to save prizes; and in the effort to
send captured vessels into port the privateer lost a large proportion by

recapture. Down to the moment when Admiral Warren established his
blockade of the American coast from New York southward, most of the
prizes got to port. After that time the New England ports alone offered
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reasonable chance of safety, and privateering received a check. During
the war about twenty-five hundred vessels all told were captured from the
British. Many were destroyed; many released as cartels; and of the
remainder not less than seven hundred and fifty, probably one half the
number sent to port, were recaptured by the British navy. Most of these
were the prizes of privateers, and would have been destroyed had they been
taken by government vessels. They were usually the most valuable prizes,
so that the injury that might have been inflicted on British commerce was
diminished nearly one half by the system which encouraged private war as
a money-making speculation.
Another objection was equally serious. Like all gambling ventures,
privateering was not profitable. In the list of five hundred privateers
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furnished by the Navy Department, three hundred were recorded as
having never made a prize. Of the remainder, few made their expenses. One
of the most successful cruises of the war was that of Joshua Barney on the
Baltimore schooner “Rossie” at the outbreak of hostilities, when every prize
reached port. Barney sent in prizes supposed to be worth fifteen hundred
thousand dollars; but after paying charges and duties and selling the goods,
he found that the profits were not sufficient to counterbalance the
discomforts, and he refused to repeat the experiment. His experience was
common. As early as November, 1812, the owners of twenty-four New
York privateers sent to Congress a memorial declaring that the profits of
private naval war were by no means equal to the hazards, and that the spirit
of privateering stood in danger of extinction unless the government would
consent in some manner to grant a bounty for the capture or destruction of
the enemy’s property.
If private enterprise was to fail at the critical moment, and if the
government must supply the deficiency, the government would have done
better to undertake the whole task. In effect, the government in the end did
so. The merchants asked chiefly for a reduction of duties on prize-goods.
Gallatin pointed out the serious objections to such legislation, and the little
probability that the measure would increase the profits of privateering or the
number of privateers. The actual privateers, he said, were more than enough

for the food offered by the enemy’s trade, and privateering, like every other
form of gambling, would always continue to attract more adventurers than
438
it could support.
Congress for the time followed Gallatin’s advice, and did nothing; but
in the summer session of 1813, after Gallatin’s departure for Europe, the
privateer owners renewed their appeal, and the acting Secretary of the
Treasury, Jones, wrote to the chairman of the Naval Committee July 21,
439
1813, —

“The fact is that ... privateering is nearly at an end; and from the
best observation I have been enabled to make, it is more from the
deficiency of remuneration in the net proceeds of their prizes than from
the vigilance and success of the enemy in recapturing.”

In deference to Jones’s opinion, Congress passed an Act, approved
Aug. 2, 1813, reducing one third the duties on prize-goods. Another Act,
approved August 3, granted a bounty of twenty-five dollars for every
prisoner captured and delivered to a United States agent by a private armed
vessel. A third Act, approved August 2, authorized the Secretary of the
Navy to place on the pension list any privateersman who should be
wounded or disabled in the line of his duty.
These complaints and palliations tended to show that the privateer cost
the public more than the equivalent government vessel would have cost. If
instead of five hundred privateers of all sizes and efficiency, the
government had kept twenty sloops-of-war constantly at sea destroying the
enemy’s commerce, the result would have been about the same as far as
concerned injury to the enemy, while in another respect the government
would have escaped one of its chief difficulties. Nothing injured the navy so
much as privateering. Seamen commonly preferred the harder but more
profitable and shorter cruise in a privateer, where fighting was not expected
or wished, to the strict discipline and murderous battles of government
ships, where wages were low and prize-money scarce. Of all towns in the
United States, Marblehead was probably the most devoted to the sea; but of
nine hundred men from Marblehead who took part in the war, fifty-seven
served as soldiers, one hundred and twenty entered the navy, while seven

440
hundred and twenty-six went as privateersmen. Only after much delay
and difficulty could the frigates obtain crews. The “Constitution” was
nearly lost by this cause at the beginning of the war; and the loss of the
“Chesapeake” was supposed to be chiefly due to the determination of the
old crew to quit the government service for that of the privateers.
Such drawbacks raised reasonable doubts as to the balance of
advantages and disadvantages offered by the privateer system. Perhaps
more careful inquiry might show that, valuable as the privateers were, the
government would have done better to retain all military and naval
functions in its own hands, and to cover the seas with small cruisers capable
of pursuing a system of thorough destruction against the shipping and
colonial interests of England.

CHAPTER XIV.
Gallatin and Bayard, having sailed from the Delaware May 9, arrived
at St. Petersburg July 21, only to find that during the six months since the
Czar offered to mediate, Russia had advanced rapidly in every direction
except that of the proposed mediation. Napoleon after being driven from
Russia in December, 1812, passed the winter in Paris organizing a new
army of three hundred thousand men on the Elbe, between Dresden and
Magdeburg, while a second army of more than one hundred thousand was
to hold Hamburg and Bremen. Russia could not prevent Napoleon from
reconstructing a force almost as powerful as that with which he had
marched to Moscow, for the Russian army had suffered very severely and
was unfit for active service; but the Czar succeeded in revolutionizing
Prussia, and in forcing the French to retire from the Vistula to the Elbe,
while he gained a reinforcement of more than one hundred thousand men
from the fresh and vigorous Prussian army. Even with that assistance the
Czar could not cope with Napoleon, who, leaving Paris April 17, during the
month of May fought furious battles at Lützen and Bautzen, which forced
the allied Russian and Prussian armies back from the Elbe to the Oder.
At that point Austria interfered so energetically as to oblige Napoleon
to accept an armistice for the purpose of collecting new forces. During the
armistice the Czar stationed himself at Gitschin in Bohemia, nine hundred
miles from St. Petersburg, and about the same distance from London by the
path that couriers were obliged to take. When Gallatin and Bayard reached
St. Petersburg, July 21, the armistice, which had been prolonged until
August 10, was about to expire, and the Czar could not be anxious to decide
subordinate questions until the issue of the coming campaign should be
known.
Meanwhile the government of England had in May, with many friendly
441
expressions, declined the Russian mediation. Castlereagh probably hoped
that this quiet notification to Lieven, the Russian envoy in London, would
end the matter; but toward the month of July news reached London that the

American commissioners, Gallatin and Bayard, had arrived at Gothenburg
on their way to Russia, and Castlereagh then saw that he must be more
explicit in his refusal. Accordingly he took measures for making the matter
clear not only to the Russian government but also to the American
commissioners.
With the Russian government he was obliged by the nature of their
common relations to communicate officially, and he wrote instructions to
Lord Cathcart, dated July 5, directing communication to be made.

442
“I am afraid,” said Castlereagh’s letter, “this tender of mediation
which on a question of maritime right cannot be listened to by Great
Britain, however kindly and liberally intended, will have had the
unfortunate effect of protracting the war with the United States. It is to
be lamented that the formal offer was made to America before the
disposition of the British government was previously sounded as to its
acceptance of a mediation. It has enabled the President to hold out to
the people of America a vague expectation of peace, under which he
may reconcile them with less repugnance to submit to the measures of
the Government. This evil, however, cannot now be avoided, and it
only remains to prevent this question from producing any
embarrassment between Great Britain and Russia.”

Embarrassment between Great Britain and Russia was no new thing in
European politics, and commonly involved maritime objects for which the
United States were then fighting. Castlereagh had much reason for wishing
to avoid the danger. The most fortunate result he could reasonably expect
from the coming campaign was a defeat of Bonaparte that should drive him
back to the Rhine. Then Russia and Austria would probably offer terms to
Napoleon; England would be obliged to join in a European Congress;
Napoleon would raise the question of maritime rights, and on that point he
would be supported by Russian sympathies. Napoleon and Russia might
insist that the United States should take part in the Congress, and in that
case England might be obliged to retire from it. Castlereagh felt uneasy at
the prospect, and ordered Cathcart to “press the Emperor of Russia in the
strongest manner not to push his personal interference on this point further.”
Cathcart was to use his utmost endeavors to persuade the Czar “pointedly to

discountenance a design so mischievously calculated to promote the views
of France.”
Another week of reflection only increased Castlereagh’s anxieties, and
caused the British government to take a step intended to leave the Czar no
opening for interference. July 13 Castlereagh wrote Cathcart new
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instructions, directing him to present a formal note acquainting the Czar
that the Prince Regent was “ready immediately to name plenipotentiaries to
meet and treat with the American plenipotentiaries in the earnest desire” of
peace, either in London or at Gothenburg; although he could “not consent
that these discussions should be carried on in any place which might be
supposed to imply that they were in any way connected with any other
negotiations.” He wrote privately to Cathcart that the mere knowledge of
the intervention of a third power in any arrangement with the United States
444
would probably decide the British people against it.
Thus in July, 1813, when the war was barely a year old, Castlereagh
reached the point of offering to negotiate directly with the United States.
This advantage was gained by the Russian offer of mediation, and was
intended not to pacify America but to silence Alexander and Roumanzoff.
Castlereagh was frank and prompt in his declarations. His offer of direct
negotiation was dated July 13, at a time when Alexander Baring received a
letter from Gallatin announcing his arrival at Gothenburg and inviting
assistance for the proposed mediation. Baring consulted Castlereagh, and
wrote, July 22, a long letter to Gallatin, to inform the American
commissioners what the British government had done and was willing to
445
do. “Before this reaches you,” said Baring, “you will have been informed
that this mediation has been refused, with expressions of our desire to treat
separately and directly here; or, if more agreeable to you, at Gothenburg.”
To leave no room for misunderstanding, Baring added that if the American
commissioners were obliged by their instructions to adhere pertinaciously
to the American demands in respect to impressments, he should think
negotiation useless.
In regular succession all these expressions of British policy were
received at St. Petersburg in the Czar’s absence, and in the doubtful state of
mind which followed the battles of Lützen and Bautzen. Alexander had left
Count Roumanzoff at St. Petersburg, continuing to act as Chancellor of the

Empire and Foreign Secretary; but in truth the Minister of Foreign Affairs,
as far as the Czar then required such an officer, was Count Nesselrode, who
attended Alexander in person and received his orders orally. Nesselrode at
that time was rather an agent than an adviser; but in general he represented
the English alliance and hostility to Napoleon, while Roumanzoff
represented the French alliance and hostility to England.
Of English diplomacy Americans knew something, and could by
similarity of mind divine what was not avowed. Of French diplomacy they
had long experience, and their study was rendered from time to time more
easy by Napoleon’s abrupt methods. Of Russian diplomacy they knew little
or nothing. Thus far Minister Adams had been given his own way. He had
been allowed to seem to kindle the greatest war of modern times, and had
been invited to make use of Russia against England; but the Czar’s reasons
for granting such favor were mysterious even to Adams, for while Napoleon
occasionally avowed motives, Alexander never did. Russian diplomacy
moved wholly in the dark.
Only one point was certain. For reasons of his own, the Czar chose to
leave Roumanzoff nominally in office until the result of the war should be
decided, although Roumanzoff was opposed to the Czar’s policy. The
chancellor did not stand alone in his hostility to the war; probably a
majority of the Russian people shared the feeling. Even the army and its old
General Koutousoff, though elated with an immense triumph, grumbled at
being obliged to fight the battles of Germany, and would gladly have
returned to their own soil. The Czar himself could not afford to break his
last tie with the French interest, but was wise to leave a path open by which
he could still retreat in case his war in Germany failed. If Napoleon should
succeed once more in throwing the Russian army back upon Russian soil,
Alexander might still be obliged to use Roumanzoff’s services if not to
resume his policy. Such a suspicion might not wholly explain Alexander’s
course toward Roumanzoff and Koutousoff, but no one could doubt that it
explained the chancellor’s course toward the Czar. Indeed, Roumanzoff
made little concealment of his situation or his hopes. Adams could without
much difficulty divine that the failure of the Czar in Germany would alone
save Roumanzoff in St. Petersburg, and that the restoration of Roumanzoff
to power was necessary to reinvigorate the mediation.