In the mean time, Cochrane had moved up to within two miles and a half of the fort, and forming his vessels in a semi-circle, began to bombard it. These works, under the command of Major Armstead, had no guns sufficiently heavy to reach the vessels, which all that day threw shells and rockets, making a grand commotion but doing little damage. At night, Cochrane moved his fleet farther up, and opened again. The scene then became grand and terrific. It was dark and rainy, and amid the gloom, rockets and shells, weighing, some of them, two hundred and fifty pounds, rose heavenward, followed by a long train of light, and stooping over the fort burst with detonations that shook the shore. Singly, and in groups, these fiery messengers traversed the sky, lighting up the fort and surrounding scenery in a sudden glow, and then with their sullen thunder, sinking all again in darkness. The deafening explosions broke over the American army and the city of Baltimore like heavy thunder-claps, calling forth soldiers and inhabitants to gaze on the illumined sky. The city was in a state of intense excitement. The streets were thronged with the sleepless inhabitants, and the tearful eyes and pallid cheeks of women, attested the anguish and fear that wild night created. As soon as Armstead discovered that the vessels had come within range, he opened his fire with such precision that they were compelled to withdraw again, content with their distant bombardment. At length a sudden and heavy cannonade was heard above the fort, carrying consternation into the city, for the inhabitants believed that it had fallen. It soon ceased, however. Several barges, loaded with troops, had passed the fort unobserved, and attempted to land and take it in rear. Pulling to the shore with loud shouts, they were met by a well-directed fire from a battery, and compelled to seek shelter under their ships.
During this tremendous bombardment Francis Key lay in a little vessel under the Admiral's frigate. He had visited him for the purpose of obtaining an exchange of some prisoners of war, especially of one who was a personal friend, and was directed to remain till after the action. During the day his eye had rested eagerly on that low fortification, over which the flag of his country was flying, and he watched with the intensest anxiety the progress of each shell in its flight, rejoicing when it fell short of its aim, and filled with fear as he saw it stooping without exploding, within those silent enclosures. At night, when darkness shut out that object of so much and intense interest, around which every hope and desire of his life seemed to cling, he still stood straining his eyes through the gloom, to catch, if he could, by the light of the blazing shells, a glimpse of his country's flag, waving proudly in the storm. The early dawn found him still a watcher, and there, to the music of bursting shells, and the roar of cannon, he composed "The Star-Spangled Banner."[6]
In the morning, Broke not deeming it prudent to assail those intrenchments, manned by brave and determined men,[7] while the heights around bristled with artillery, resolved to retreat. Waiting till night to take advantage of the darkness, he retraced his steps to the shipping.
From the extreme apprehensions that had oppressed it, Baltimore passed to the most extravagant joy. Beaming faces once more filled the streets, and the military bands, as they marched through, playing triumphant strains, were saluted with shouts. The officers were feted and exultation and confidence filled every bosom.
CHAPTER VII.
Macomb at Plattsburg — American and English fleets on Lake Champlain — Advance of Prevost — Indifference of Governor Chittenden — Rev. Mr. Wooster — Macdonough — The two battles — Funeral of the officers — British invasion of Maine — McArthur's expedition.
The gallant defence of Baltimore was still the theme of every tongue, when tidings from our northern borders swelled the enthusiasm to the highest pitch, and extinguished for a moment the remembrance of the barbarities committed at Washington.
The day before the British landed at North Point and received their first shock in the death of General Ross, the double battle of Plattsburg was fought.
Izard, when he started on his tortoise-like march, to the relief of Brown, left Colonel Macomb in command of three thousand men, not more than half of whom were fit for service. Their defeat he considered certain, and the result would have justified his prognostications, had Macomb, like him, sat down to brood over his troubles and gaze only on the difficulties that beset the army, till his confidence was gone and his energies paralyzed. But he was made of sterner stuff—difficulties only roused and developed him. Were the well men under his command few? then his defences must be the stronger, and the labor of those able to work, the more constant and exhausting.
Calling on New York and Vermont for militia, he toiled night and day at the works, and soon found himself strongly intrenched.