A Fire Born Anthem That Ends With A Question (Star Spangled Banner Pt II)
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Let us establish our bearings. It is early September, 1814. Washington, D.C., the nation’s young capital, has just been put to the torch. The Capitol and the White House would now have to be rebuilt, along with many other buildings, both private and federal. I know that, now, this seems like a casual history fact, but it should be pondered upon for a moment. Many wars, whether they be massive or minuscule, with far more history-book mentions, never had one side’s capital put to the torch by the invading country—let alone the country that wouldn’t even lose the war in the end. (Unless you’re Russian—then you burn down your own major cities and farmland just to spite the incoming invader. But the Russian experience doesn’t relate to anyone else’s reality. It is as aspect of what makes them so interesting, and frightening.)
Moving on.
Even though the reasons this part of the story isn’t often talked about are relatively obvious, due to embarrassment, it’s still a wild basket of facts. Just think, the U.S. Capitol building in ruins, the White House a smoldering shell of itself. (Actually, the capitol building wouldn’t be rebuilt and completed into the building we see today until 1868) President Madison fled into the countryside, literally just a handful of minutes away from being captured by the British, running away under the power of his own legs. His wife, with the prized portrait of George Washington in her hands, left a couple minutes earlier. Madison famously declined food, yet had a glass of wine, and then fled with a couple generals around 4pm, with the approaching redcoats literally within eyesight. In London, British newspapers were already speculating whether the United States would survive at all, the outcome of the war already being assumed was in their favor. For good reason they figured they had the war in the bag. They also didn’t feel guilty, because York (future Toronto) had previously been set to the flame by the Americans. It was the age old reasoning of tit-for-tat. We can’t seem to outgrow that one, can we?
Washington D.C. was a small city just coming into being as a pre-planned capital—one must remember that no city had sat on that land before. It was only constructed there because of a compromise between north and south. The city was, in the American way, a symbol and not a pre-established reality. That was an unusual move by the Americans. And while the symbolic pain of it’s burning was lost on no one, the city itself was never the heart, or a heart, of America’s war effort. Not in the slightest, as confusing as that was to Europeans. It wasn’t militarily pivotal, outside of the said symbolism (which, admittedly, shouldn’t be ignored in wars). It was not a large city, a manufacturing base, or a harbor that could materially support the war effort much. That, however, could be said of the city of Baltimore. And that is where we shall attempt to be, in our minds, for this episode.
Before we charge ahead, I want to momentarily hit the brakes and lay something plain. An establishment of cause is needed here. Maybe an establishment of calmness and collective strength also. This simple story behind a simple song that became an anthem must have meaning, I mean, I sure pray it does for someone other than I.
How does one put this…? You see, part of the reason behind this episode lies in trying to make current Americans feel something powerful now from what happened before… Newsflash, we are not living in some brand-new apocalypse, regardless of how it may feel. The only substantial new thing is the little glowing screen in your hand and the endless ticker or digital information begging for your attention – and often gaining it – through telling you the life you roam through is unprecedented. It isn’t. America has always been flavored with a carnival of fear, fury, as well as a marching onwards in a singular way. Go back to the election of 1800 — Adams’ people calling Jefferson a godless radical, a Jacobin ready to burn the churches and unleash mobs in the streets. Jefferson’s people spitting back that Adams was a monarchist tyrant, a man itching to crown himself king. One paper even branded Jefferson a literal “hideous hermaphroditical character.” That’s not polite disagreement — that’s bare-knuckle, blood-sport politics. It was sincerely lewd and wild. Sound familiar?
And if you think that the sins and wildness of the present are something wildly new, think again. Reagan’s crew ran Iran-Contra, selling arms to Iran via Israel, and funneling cash from drug sales in L.A. to Nicaraguan rebels, straight past Congress. Those weapons were then probably used to kill 260 something Navy SEALs in Beirut. Clinton turned the Oval Office into a scandal circus and got impeached for lying about sex. Bush marched us into Afghanistan to chase a Saudi Arabian and then into Iraq on the pretense of weapons that didn’t exist, foreign policy disasters we’re still paying for. Obama stretched executive power to the skies with drone strikes raining down on civilians far from congressional oversight. Different names, different parties, but the same old pattern: every generation convinced the Republic is circling the drain, every generation thinking the other political side is creating the End Times of American democracy.
And yet — the lights are still on. Americans are just like everyone else, except different, and a lot of that is in the good ways. It’s still the place where people want to be, in the big picture sense of the term. The wonderful experiment staggers forward. Not because we always win the right battles, not because our leaders never screw up, but because enough of us, enough of the “regulars”, time after time, refuse to quit. Americans trudge ahead and keep the great experiment going. Enough of us keep the lights on, care for each other and the foundational ideas, so that the weight and innovative end products of it all still seems to outweigh most of what anyone else has to offer.
Which oddly enough brings us back to Baltimore, 1814. Ah, the solitude and insights of history… The British had the rockets, the navy, the power of empire. Inside Fort McHenry, just a bunch of volunteers showed up with little else than themselves. Farmers, tradesmen, merchants — not professionals, not zealots, not even all believers in the damn war. They knew the math: on paper the enemy was unbeatable, their cannons outranged anything they had. And yet, when the night lit up with fire, they didn’t stage some grand suicidal charge, or a suicidal holding of the line, or rack up a glorious kill count. We don’t remember any movie heroics like that (actually, have you ever wondered why there isn’t a movie about this?) The Americans there just held on. Outside of the lights and noise, for those of us used to modern movies, it was kind of boring. Those Americans at Fort McHenry just persevered. They kept the torn and battered flag upright all through the fight. That was the job.
And here’s the secret: that’s always been the job. To keep going when the fear is real. To keep faith with an idea that isn’t etched in shared bloodlines or ancient stone, but scribbled in future gazing hope and held together by grit. The Star-Spangled Banner doesn’t end with a boast, it ends with a confusingly damned question: “Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave?” That’s America in a nutshell — a question, not an answer. It depends on us, each generation, deciding again that it’s worth it. Francis Scott Key was not writing about witnessing an American victory. He was writing about perseverance through fear when the cards are stacked against you. That’s what matters. (Just ask Washington at Valley Forge…)
Lincoln, decades later, would ask his countrymen to ponder their “mystic chords of memory” — threads running from the graves and the battlefields, binding us back to one another when we’re ready to tear ourselves apart. Even though, in American style, most didn’t even have ancestors that even existed in the country or within those memories. In America, that doesn’t matter, those mystic chords are still yours.
On that night in 1814, when Fort McHenry held against the darkness, Francis Scott Key caught one of those chords. He wasn’t writing about triumph, or sacrifice, or even victory. He wrote about not giving up. Yet, somehow, later, victory is what that became. Again, he was writing about perseverance through fear, about a people who dared to chance it all for a shared idea. And that is the piece of the story we can’t afford to forget. It is what we need now, and always. Because if regular Americans of all types, 200+ years ago, under unobstructed hellfire, can just withstand it for the person at their side and the family back behind the lines, you can take a breath and handle the news of the day on your phone. As George Washington said to his troops in 1776, “Perseverance and spirit have done wonders in all ages.”
Please know, I’m not suggesting one does nothing but persevere, whatever your political persuasion of the moment is. Perseverance isn’t passivity — it’s the hard work of a steady faith grounded in the big picture. Roosevelt said, ‘Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.’ Grant said every battle turns when both sides think they’re beaten, and the one who just keeps going wins. That’s not martyrdom, that’s America’s story — not burning out in a blaze, but carrying on, battered, until the flag is still there at dawn. Remember, we are not each others enemies, we just have not had a “real” external one in so long that we know not what to do with that earthly energy we all contain. That’s why we need the past to better our approach to the present and future…
Okay, the philosophy can – for a moment – take a break, let’s get back to the story.
——
In 1814, Baltimore was one of the most important port cities in the country—thriving with trade, shipbuilding, and even privateers who had spent the war harassing and humiliating British commerce as best they could. Fresh off their rampage in D.C., the Crown understandably decided to have their troops just travel up the road a bit while their navy was to simply travel up the Chesapeake Bay. To them, Baltimore wasn’t just the next military target; it was a threat. And the thinking was, if they played their cards right, it could be the last threat America could muster and this war could wind down on their terms.
So after torching the nation’s capital, the British set their sights on the bigger prize. They returned to the Chesapeake with a fleet of warships, bomb ketches, and rocket vessels—some of the same ones that had just fought Napoleon on the other side of the Atlantic. Their goal: take Baltimore by land and sea, crush American morale, and force a peace treaty on British terms. Or, maybe force a little bit more than a treaty…
On paper, as we know, the Americans didn’t stand a chance. They had no fleet to meet the Royal Navy—literally, they didn’t posses anything floating with guns outside of a a few small ships and some questionable hired privateers they felt they needed to just harass the British ships and keep them occupied, if nothing else. The fort defending Baltimore—Fort McHenry—was manned primarily by citizen-soldiers, not professional troops. And the only defense in the water was a line of old ships, deliberately sunk to block the harbor entrance. A useful trick, no doubt, but no wall of Troy, nothing that the Brits haven’t seen before…
What followed was one of the most important yet under-appreciated battles in American history: a 25-hour bombardment that clouded the daytime and lit up the night sky. Rockets screamed. Mortars pounded the fort. The British believed they could terrorize the defenders into surrender.
Instead, when the smoke cleared and dawn broke over the harbor, the massive American flag within the fort still sat in the breeze. The darn thing wouldn’t stop waving.
It was that moment—not a victory parade, but survival—that inspired Francis Scott Key to write the lines Americans still sing today.
——-
Let us reestablish the moment the Americans found themselves in on that fateful September day in 1814. When the Battle of Baltimore began Americans were under the belief of the quasi-truth that this war they found themselves in began due to the British practice of impressment, in which the limeys would stop and board American ships and forcibly take sailors they believed were British, plus a whole lot more. Plenty Americans didn’t buy it. But that was the reality and the Brits definitely wanted to error on the side of having more sailors in their ranks, forced or not, legal or not. Ask for forgiveness not permission, it seems.
Remember, in 1812 they were at war with Napoleon and needed every sailor they could get. And while it was true that American ships had plenty of British-born sailors, plenty of natural-born Americans got mixed up in this escapade as well. And even though the United States was only 23 years old and didn’t have much of a navy to speak of (or army, for that matter), this impressment nonsense touched a nerve. Or at least Americans were told that it did. No matter that Britain officially promised to stop doing it—James Madison had had enough and declared war on his former masters, who incidentally were still the undisputed rulers of the seas and had a battle-hardened army to boot. But in 1812 it was a distracted army, and Madison knew that. That Napoleon guy was a pretty uniquely scary distraction for Britain and its armed forces, presenting what we would call an existential threat. Seriously, they thought it might be the end of good ‘ole England.
Madison, as well as other founders, and those in his cabinet, were all too aware of this and thought the timing would be perfect to start a little scuffle all the while echoing many of the liberty-related wounds claimed in the Revolution—not realizing that his people might eventually find themselves facing an existential threat of their own in the process. He, and many others, thought it was a logical time to try and “liberate” Canada (which we must remember was fully British), thereby expanding the nation substantially, while greatly helping American trade prospects in the process.
(And yes, that’s a CliffsNotes-style synopsis—please check out part one to understand the specifics of the moment better. But in case you haven’t heard that one I figured a mini recap could be helpful here.)
But of course, most moments don’t last. Neither did the war with Napoleon. In early 1814 he was defeated and exiled to Elba. And I know many people will say that he came back and gave fighting the British another go. Yes, that eventually happens—but only after— in the spring and summer of 1814 the British were freed up from continental concerns and able to shift their military priorities to yet again fighting the young upstart Americans. Madison and crew did not see this coming; very few thought it would happen. The idea of Napoleon—who had become master of the European continent in most respects—being defeated and ceasing to pester the British was not what a betting man would place his chips on. And then, voilà, what began as an argument over impressment and disrespect toward American liberty, mixed with the suspiciously perfect timing to try to expand the nation’s borders and trading capabilities, became something else entirely. What began as something akin to a backyard boxing match became an unexpected struggle for survival against a superior rival who brought weapons to the yard. In some ways, the British were able to bring guns to a knife fight.
And that’s what I’d suggest we focus on when pondering the anthem and its surrounding story: the realities of the day, the utter fear that the regular Americans had pulsing through their minds, bodies, and souls. Try to imagine you’re one of them — a citizen of a nation that has existed for just a single generation—then your nation picks a fight with its old masters over what you’re mostly told are the rights of sailors(….?) only to find yourself in a spot where, logically, it seems that your nation might soon be no more. It’s just a matter of time, and largely just a matter of a battle over Baltimore, before the beginning of the end commences. It must have been dreadful for those Americans in Baltimore itself—many of whom got on their rooftops to see the British warships roll in and then park themselves just out of range of American guns, armed with modern rockets and mortars—all the while knowing the army that had just been in D.C. must be somewhere close to your home as well. And while we can only speculate about the internal struggle of those in the nation, and especially those in Baltimore, we do know at least what one man’s experience was like.
——
Enter Francis Scott Key
Francis was a Georgetown lawyer from Maryland. By all accounts he was well respected—and remembered for, maybe unsurprisingly, his eloquence in courtrooms. It is said that he was a thoughtful and religious man of good character. In September of 1814 he was 35 years old, meaning he grew up during the revolutionary war.
We’ve established that Francis Scott Key wasn’t a soldier, nor was he a politician. Interestingly, when the War of 1812 began, Key was no firebrand patriot. Like many Americans—and for good reason—he had mixed feelings about the war, its legitimacy, and its aims. But by 1814, his homeland was under direct threat, and like many of his countrymen his feelings began to change out of necessity. In that sense, Key mirrored the emotional landscape of his country: in two years they went from trepidation to a strong but novel patriotism emerging out of fear that the nation could be relegated to the history books as a short, failed experiment.
Despite being neither soldier nor politician, Key was pulled into the war—and into history—in a most unusual way. A good friend of his, a local physician, Dr. William Beanes, had been captured by the British after the raid on Washington. As happens in war it seems that some straggling British soldiers had reverted to looting and causing general mayhem in Upper Marlboro, which was near D.C. Dr. Beanes and some others took it upon themselves to arrest some of these looters, which the British officers did not take kindly to—so in turn the Americans were arrested. That’s a pretty audacious move by Dr. Beanes, and not one I would have recommended he do, but what happened happened. Thereafter, Dr. Beanes’s family and friends lobbied the British to release him—arguing that he had caused no harm to the British soldiers and was only attempting to keep a semblance of peace in the wake of the burning of D.C. So, with Key being a prominent local lawyer as well as his friend, he was asked to help negotiate his release. It probably won’t surprise you that, if you were a betting man, you wouldn’t expect Key to be successful—at least not in a timely manner.
Surprisingly, he was able to secure communication with, and then permission from, President James Madison to do so—even though the White House was in ruins and Madison was basically on the run. He also was given the go ahead from the Commissioner General of Prisoners. Key brought along Colonel John Skinner, who had experience in prisoner exchanges, as well as letters from British prisoners who said the doctor had treated them humanely and eagerly helped a few with wounds they had received.
So they boarded a small American vessel under a flag of truce, sailed into the Chesapeake Bay, and Francis found himself face-to-face with the very British fleet preparing to attack Baltimore. That day was September 7th. That must have taken more than just a dash of bravery…
Moved by the letters from their fellow British soldiers, General Robert Ross and Rear Admiral George Cockrane —combined with the professional and calm manner in which the Americans approached—eventually agreed that the doctor could be released. However, there was a catch. Key and his party had seen too much. It was believed that he now knew not only that the British were going to attack but could also have gleaned something of their plan of attack, level of supplies, etc. So instead of letting them return to shore right away, the British held them aboard ship under guard—but respectfully so.
One part I found fascinating and had no idea about before researching this was that Key, Skinner, and the doctor were held aboard this ship for over a week!
From that vantage point—caught between two armed forces in conflict—Francis Scott Key watched the battle unfold, uncertain whether Baltimore would survive or whether the flag he saw by day would be flying the next morning.
Can you imagine that? To be held “politely but firmly” by your enemy for over a week, aboard their ships, among soldiers utterly confident in their ability to destroy your city, the city that was key to their success—while being able to see said city from your ship—walking amongst the multitude of advanced weaponry they had readied for that purpose. I wonder what his family must have thinking at the time… Francis was, however, able to take notes and write to himself about what was going on; as long such notes didn’t make it to shore, it was of no concern to the British. It is thought now that he was probably making notes about their way of operating, what weapons they had, what types of ships and capabilities they brought—just in case this information would one day be useful. He would have been in constant communication with British officers; one has to imagine they were just as interested in learning about Americans as he was about them. As was the custom among people of that time, they would have offered him the niceties and politeness that he “deserved” as someone of his station, being there under a flag of truce.
This aspect of the journey tickles me most, and it’s a shame there isn’t more known about this time he was with the Brits. We do know that Key and Beanes were eventually moved from HMS Tonnant, where Key had his negotiations with Admiral Cochrane, to HMS Surprise. At some point he was then put back upon their American truce ship (the exact name of which has been lost to history). However, as the American vessel was attached to a British ship, no chance of escape was possible—they would have to wait it out and only leave when allowed to. I think he would never have even thought of trying to escape; I imagine he had given his word that, in exchange for his friend’s life, he would stay throughout the fight and therefore not be capable of providing his fellow Americans with any military help.
What would those dinner conversations have been like? The chivalry and cultural rules of that time are so fascinating, so unlike what would happen now. However, one thing we do have now is AI. So I asked ChatGPT what a potential dinner conversation would be like, just for fun. Here is what I was given:
Admiral Cochrane (smiling, cordial):
Mr. Key, I trust your accommodations have been satisfactory, given the unusual nature of your visit.
Francis Scott Key (measured, polite):
Admiral Cochrane, you and your officers have treated us with a civility I would not have expected during a war. For that, I am grateful.
General Ross (leaning forward, amused):
War need not extinguish manners, Mr. Key. Nor, I hope, our mutual respect as gentlemen—even if your country and mine presently disagree most fiercely.
Dr. Beanes (quietly, perhaps bitter):
That disagreement seems rather more one-sided, General, when one’s home is burned and looted.
Ross (slightly sharper):
Your capital was poorly defended, Doctor. An unfortunate truth of war—not personal cruelty. We sought to bring your leaders to terms, not your civilians to suffering.
John Skinner (coolly):
Yet the people of Baltimore may not yield so quickly.
Cochrane (smiling again):
Come now, gentlemen. Baltimore is but a port city. Once the fort is silenced, your citizens will see reason. Your Congress will find negotiations much more agreeable after we demonstrate British resolve.
Key (carefully, observing):
I confess, Admiral, it is strange to dine with men who plan to attack my home within days. Baltimore is not Washington, sir. You will find her far better prepared.
Ross (with calm confidence):
Prepared? Perhaps. But your militias are farmers, merchants, and clerks. Brave, yes—but they cannot withstand trained veterans who have defeated Bonaparte himself.
Cochrane (raising his glass slightly):
Once we hold Baltimore, the war may finally be brought to its natural conclusion—and your country spared further ruin. Surely, Mr. Key, that would be a desirable peace.
Key (quiet, firm):
Peace must not come through submission, Admiral. Not while our flag still flies.
[A tense pause. The officers shift slightly. The British respect the reply, but the stakes are understood]
Ross (lighter again, changing tone):
You are a man of words, Mr. Key. When this campaign ends—however it ends, when that flag is finally lowered—perhaps you’ll find fine words to mark these days. Maybe you’ll even be relieved that your people no longer have to fight, even if it comes via surrender.
Key (softly, almost prophetic):
Perhaps, General. But I pray that when I write them, it is not in mourning, but in gratitude… that the flag remains, the city endures—indicating the nation does as well.
The officers exchange glances. The conversation turns to less dangerous topics—the weather, European news, the long campaigns in Spain—but the unspoken tension remains. The night ahead will bring war.]
That was what an AI LLM algorithm guessed as their conversation. Kind of fun, no?
——-
The Battle
What’s important to know about the defense of Baltimore—and the nation— is that it did not happen solely upon Baltimore’s waters near where the Patapsco River enters Chesapeake Bay.
There was also fighting on land. Not only is this important in a strictly military sense, but because it adds weight to what would happen at Fort McHenry.
On September 12th, before the sun emerged from beneath the horizon, 4,700 British troops disembarked from their ships and moved upon North Point, a mini-peninsula that reaches into the water east of Baltimore itself. It is a swampy area with numerous creeks and smaller rivers upon low-lying land.
It was a fifteen-mile march for the Brits. That doesn’t look huge on a map, but walking over half a marathon with all of your gear, in wool uniforms, in early September, would be exhausting and hints of overconfidence. General Stricker, on the American side, had about 5,000 militiamen. Not professional soldiers like the Brits, but men who decided upon themselves to fight for their home. These were normal men with less war gear—not hardened soldiers with the resources of an empire, the empire. Stricker used the terrain to his advantage, keeping a creek and swampy land to his right flank and the Back River on his left. British General Robert Ross was not fazed, though, claiming he would “sup in Baltimore tonight, or in hell.” Unfortunately for him, it was more like the latter. After a heavy artillery exchange and two British attacks on the Americans’ well-thought-out position, the British could not make the Americans break nor turn their flanks. General Ross himself was killed in the fray, and in the end the infantry attacks proved to be a failure.
The British commanders afloat in the harbor were in close coordination with the infantry. They were informed of the failed attack and the death of Ross that very day. Key and his fellow casual captives would also have been informed. You have to imagine they were both happy at the news but also nervous about what this meant for their treatment.
Let us again have some fun and imagine, with the help of AI, another short conversation that may have happened:
Scene: A more subdued meal aboard HMS Tonnant. The mood has shifted. Cochrane, Skinner, Key, Beanes, and a few British officers dine. A sense of gravity hangs in the air.
Admiral Cochrane (staring at his wine, breaking a silence):
Gentlemen… you’ve no doubt heard. General Ross fell this afternoon.
Francis Scott Key (somberly, respectful):
I had. My condolences, Admiral. He was a soldier of honor.
John Skinner (carefully):
His death will not be easily borne by your men.
Cochrane (with a trace of frustration):
Ross was… irreplaceable. His leadership brought us this far. Yet the operation proceeds. Colonel Brooke will continue the advance inland.
British officer (briskly):
The Americans fought more capably than anticipated at North Point. Militia—but not cowards.
Dr. Beanes (quiet, almost to himself):
They fight for their homes.
Cochrane (coolly, after a pause):
And yet, no matter the ground battle, your city’s fate rests upon that fort. Once we silence McHenry, the harbor opens. The army need not take Baltimore by blood. We shall starve it into submission.
Key (carefully measured):
And if the fort holds, Admiral?
Cochrane (a thin smile):
Then your Mr. Madison may yet continue his hopeless war… for a time.
Skinner (with quiet confidence):
We have proven before that this nation can endure hopeless odds.
Cochrane (firm, as if closing the matter):
We’ll see, gentlemen. The fleet opens fire at first light. The garrison cannot stand before Congreve rockets and naval mortars. We’ve broken far stronger fortresses than Fort McHenry.
——-
The Final Fight
They weren’t wrong about that. They had broken stronger fortresses. And Mr. Madison’s hope did rest upon the fort holding, with the odds against him. This was an inflection point not only in this battle but in the War of 1812, and it’s usually overlooked. But the reality of it put even more pressure upon the British and the outcome at Fort McHenry—something that Key was all too aware of, having gotten the news. And that battle would affect the War of 1812 as a whole, which we know now would affect the course and life of America. This wasn’t lost on Key. More on that soon…
Fort McHenry is a star-shaped fort that sits at the entrance of Baltimore’s harbor. It held a garrison of roughly 1,000 men, some Army regulars but mostly volunteer troops. It had 36 cannons to defend itself and the entrance to Baltimore. As the sun rose on the morning of September 13th, 1814, Major George Armistead and Captain Joseph Nicholson could look through their spyglasses and see a harrowing sight. Five British bomb ships were positioning themselves where they could easily hit the fort but, with the realities of the guns they had and the distance they chose, would be hard—if not effectively impossible—for the Americans to strike back. And those weren’t the only ships the British had. They had plenty more—and plenty of ammunition. They also had plenty of reason to feel upset and to give their all in attacking this American city.
The British had three main types of terror to throw at the Americans. It seems the idea was as much about inflicting fear as it was kinetic military hits. The British were armed with mortar shells (bombs that would explode in fury over the fort), Congreve rockets (terrifyingly big and deadly, think monstrously large bottle rockets), and the traditional cannonballs we all think of when we think of ordnance from this period.
And we know that during the harrowing 25-hour bombardment, Key’s ship was tethered to a British vessel (one not directly engaged but placed back to see the whole affair) and placed under guard to prevent Key and his companions from somehow revealing to Baltimore’s defenders any attack plans they overheard or came to know.
This is how Major George Armistead, the American commander at Fort McHenry, described the onset of the ordeal:
“On Tuesday morning about Sun rise, the Enemy commenced the attack from his five bomb vessels, at the distance of about two Miles, when finding that his Shells reached Us, He anchored, and Kept Up an incessant and well-directed Bombardment. We immediately opened our Batteries and kept a brisk fire from our Guns and Mortars, but unfortunately our Shot and Shells all fell considerably Short of him; this was to me a most distressing circumstance as it left us exposed to a constant and tremendous Shower of Shells without the most remote possibility of our doing him the slightest injury. It affords me the highest gratification to State, that although we were left thus exposed, and thus inactive, not a Man Shrunk from the conflict.”
Imagine, you’re in a fort you cannot abandon. You must stay vigilant so that, should the British try to enter the harbor and Baltimore itself, you can at least attempt to frighten them away—if not sink their ships. Yet for the moment you’re cornered and firing back doesn’t do much good. And should you lower the flag, should you abandon the fort, should you surrender, your instincts tell you that the crucial city of Baltimore would fall just like Washington did. Maybe it would be burned too, you would have to assume. Maybe a lot more cities would be burned. Maybe the war would be lost—maybe even the idea of America.
That may seem like hyperbole now. But at the time, through a spyglass, the Americans could see one of the enemy’s best ships, aptly named Volcano, begin to shoot two-hundred-pound shells right at their position. Shells that not only weighed more than the average grown man but shells that would vigorously explode in the air above your location, spraying shrapnel everywhere—looking to destroy men and structures alike. And then four other ships join in, then soon thereafter even more join the chorus. Rockets that make terrifying sounds and give off an exhaust plume you’re not used to seeing arc across the sky toward you. A futuristic weapon that you don’t have anything like to fire back. They may not be terribly accurate, but that is of no consequence to the British; they have plenty of them and know that enough will find their target—all the while striking fear into those who watched from the city and the fort. And of course then followed the almost seemingly antiquated, but deadly effective, good old-fashioned cannonballs: masses of metal smashing into your walls and the ground all around you.
It is said that houses in the vicinity shook upon the arrival of these cannonballs; people in Baltimore could feel the explosions with thuds in their chests. The war was visceral to those Americans, the regular citizens of Baltimore, in a way no war since then has been. Not only were they aware of what had just happened to their sister city of Washington, aware of the implications of the outcome of the bombardment of their protective fort, but they could see it and feel it, as many climbed to rooftops or hilltops to watch the wildness unfold almost within their grasp. Amazingly, within the fort, Major Armistead initially rallied his troops, barked orders, and actually directed some return fire. At first there was some success, as a couple of British ships had become a little overly aggressive and wandered within range of the fort’s guns. Incredibly a couple of direct hits were achieved, always followed by boisterous cheers from the American soldiers. While this wasn’t a massive turn of events militarily speaking, it did have the desired effect of letting the British know they couldn’t storm the harbor or the city—not yet at least. It also had the effect of making all the ships scurry out of range and continue their volley of metallic death at the star-shaped fort that stood in their way just a little bit further back. To the British it was just a matter of time: they could punch without being punched back, and as soon as Armistead surrendered—as soon as that flag was lowered, sending the timeless, mutually agreed upon message across the water of “we give up”—it would be over.
And while the British had time, protection, and ammunition overwhelmingly in their favor, these things were not inexhaustible. (Yet they must have seemed so.) They began their attack around 6:30 a.m., at dawn, and well over 12 hours later, as the sun reddened and sauntered its way into the land west of Baltimore, inviting the darkness of night, the bombardment did not cease. While they had plenty of direct hits on the fort, the British were also not as precise as they wanted, because of their fear of straying within range of the fort’s guns. The Americans wouldn’t know this, though, as they mostly hid within the fort’s moat to stay as best they could away from the shrapnel of the exploding bombs—probably taking turns standing watch on the walls and sending back the occasional cannon shot, if for no other reason than to remind the British they were still there. But the British were well aware of that, because the American flag still stood high and waved in the wind, even as the British aimed at the flag directly, trying to at least rob their foe of their symbol if they couldn’t yet force surrender.
After nightfall, Cochrane, becoming quite upset over the apparent futility of their exertions, actually sent 1,200 of his soldiers ashore. After boasting that he would be able to force a surrender in less than two hours, it was apparent things were not going to plan. Around two a.m., citizens and soldiers alike became aware that something new was happening—the ground beneath everyone’s feet began to rumble even more fiercely than before, as Cochrane ordered a massive simultaneous barrage to provide cover for his troops—who were put upon numerous barges—as they tried to slip past the fort in the darkness and confusion and outflank the Americans. But the barges were sighted—maybe actually because of the light from the bombardment of their weapons, we don’t know—and the barges were fired upon in return. It seems that a couple of hits were scored, most of the barges then decided to return, and the soldiers who did make it ashore were held back by U.S. infantrymen.
Though the Americans could not be aware of it, this was probably when the British realized they were playing a losing hand. At this point it had been over 18 hours of bombing the fort and trying to force a surrender and finagle their way into Baltimore so as to—in their minds—begin the ending of this bloody war. It seems the British decided things would not go their way. Rockets and bombs continued, though not nearly at the same pace. And then, the next morning, the pre-dawn glow revealed a very foggy, misty harbor. Right before dawn the men at the fort pulled down the battered flag that had made it through the night and hoisted a massive 30-by-42-foot version of the Star-Spangled Banner, the flag of the United States of America, while also sending out the ceremonial morning shot. The fort’s defenders stood at what must have been the most exhausting yet exhilarating attention they would ever experience. And the British, seeing the flag they wanted lowered only replaced with one substantially lowered, must have been upset and maybe even mocked.
They knew they had just witnessed something unique.
Major Armistead recorded the event as such:
“The Bombardment continued on the part of the Enemy until seven OClock on Wednesday Morning, when it ceased and about nine, their Ships got under weigh and Stood down the River. During the Bombardment which continued 25 Hours, (with two slight intermissions) from the best calculation I can make, from fifteen to Eighteen hundred Shells were [thrown] by the Enemy, a few of these fell short, a large proportion burst over us, throwing their fragments among us, and threatening destruction, many passed over, and about four hundred fell within the Works. Two of the public buildings are materially injured, the others but slightly. I am happy to inform you (wonderful as it may appear) that our loss amounts only to four Men Killed, and twenty four Wounded, the latter will all recover. Among the Killed, I have to lament the loss of Lieut Clagget, and Sergeant Clemm, both of Capt Nicholsons Volunteers, two Men whose fate is to be deplored, not only for their personal bravery, but for their high Standing, amiable Demeanor, and spotless integrity in private life. Lieut. Russel of the Company under Lt Pennington received early in the attack a severe contusion in the Heel, notwithstanding which He remained at his post during the whole Bombardment.
“Was I to name any individuals who signalized themselves, it would be doing injustice to others, suffice it to say, that every Officer and Soldier under my Command did their duty to my entire satisfaction.”
Armistead and the soldiers weren’t the only ones who witnessed this. Francis Scott Key, still observing from his boat out in the harbor, watched the fort all night long, looking to see if the flag remained—which could only be seen through the light of exploding bombs and the exhaust of the British rockets. And then, as the sun began to be born in the east and its rays broke through the mist, he saw the massive flag being raised. The flag—much larger than one needed to be and much larger than one would normally see anywhere—defiantly waved in the air, communicating something much more than “we don’t surrender.” It communicated, “we Americans are still here, you haven’t beaten us!” What it communicated, and what it felt like to see the battle flag during the night, and now seeing its larger brother in the dawn light as the enemy prepared to flee, spoke something ineffable to him—as it must have to all those in Baltimore and around the fort who saw it.
But just because it created an ineffable feeling doesn’t mean you don’t try to record the experience. So Francis Scott Key pulled a letter and pencil from his pocket and began, right then and there, to write a poem to remember the moment. He wrote what came naturally to mind. This is the Star Spangled Banner poem in it’s entirety…
O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light,
What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight
O’er the ramparts we watch’d were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket’s red glare, the bomb bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,
O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream,
’Tis the star-spangled banner—O long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore,
That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion
A home and a Country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wash’d out their foul footstep’s pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave,
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
O thus be it ever written when freemen shall stand
Between their lov’d home and the war’s desolation!
Blest with vict’ry and peace may the heav’n rescued land
Praise the power that hath made and preserv’d us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto—“In God is our trust,”
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
That was the complete original version of the poem—and yes, it was a poem at first. But you may ask, why did you tell me all of that—all those details of the battle? Why not just get to the poem; isn’t that what this episode is about anyway? Because that’s the magical part. It was written on the spot, by a man still technically in the hands of the enemy, during the pivotal battle of a war that—if lost—could potentially have seen America fall back under the hands of the country from which it had gained independence only a generation earlier. I want you to feel the momentous nature of the moment. To realize its import and to know that it was never initially intended to be an anthem, which makes it wildly unique amongst national anthems. Seeing that flag—both by the light of deadly munitions and then a forgiving dawn’s light—was literally to see the life of America continue. It’s not hyperbole; it’s not an after-the-fact rendering of events for manufactured patriotism’s sake. It was a man recording his feelings and thoughts in what was, at the time, a private poem. Take a moment. Let all that sink in. Even if you hate everything that’s going on for one reason or another in this country—and there is always plenty to complain about—that’s meaningful and gives one pause. If nothing else, with a little luck, maybe your former feelings about the song are altered for the better, and you’ll give attention at the next ballgame in a slightly different manner.
Take a second and think about it… that’s why we went over the whole story. (Also, it’s a pretty cool and exciting story on its own, isn’t it?)
So… what happened next? Let’s go over it—but we can make this a more abridged version. Should you want a more thorough examination of the post-battle trip from in-the-moment poem to national anthem, that is only a quick search away. But here are the basics:
First, in terms of the war: the Americans had redeemed themselves at the Battle of Baltimore after the humiliation of the burning of their capital. After failing to take Baltimore, and another loss at Plattsburgh, New York, General Wellington seems to have decided this whole adventure just wasn’t worth it. Would they have kept going had they not just ended their intense war with Napoleon? Who knows—but that probably played in the Americans’ favor. Either way, Wellington counseled the government and his king to discontinue the war. And just a few months later, on Christmas Eve 1814, John Quincy Adams, Henry Clay, and Albert Gallatin signed the Treaty of Ghent, and the War of 1812 was officially over. Basically, and usually, things went back to where they were before the war, and soon enough the countries were in as good a relationship as recently former enemies could wish to be. Effectively both sides declared it a tie and tried to forget it ever happened—which, in some ways, they were pretty effective at.
In terms of the poem soon to be a song, that’s an interesting story as well. Key initially titled his poem “Defense of Fort M’Henry.” It was Key’s brother-in-law who decided to pair the poem with the music from a song titled “To Anacreon in Heaven.” This was basically a rowdy song sung within the Society of Anacreon, a gentlemen’s club that met monthly. So it was a drinking song for men of means at the time. This was considered a bit risqué, even to use just the music, because the original song alluded to drinking alcohol and the love of women. This was even an issue decades later, with many congressmen saying that other songs such as “My Country, ’Tis of Thee,” “America the Beautiful,” and “Hail, Columbia” were based in better morals and should be the anthem for that reason. Interestingly, other objections were that it was difficult to sing and play, and that one couldn’t dance or march to it, as well as that it was too military-centric. It is fascinating how things change, and don’t change, throughout the many years…
Regardless, the song was published soon after the battle, became popular in Baltimore and then slowly the rest of the country. The Navy used it to accompany the raising of the flag after 1889. But it wasn’t until 1916 that Woodrow Wilson adopted the song as the de facto national anthem, without codifying it into law. That only happened later: in 1929 “House Resolution 14” presented “The Star-Spangled Banner” to Congress to become the official national anthem of the United States, and it was finally adopted by law on March 3, 1931, well over a century after its creation.
And so, out in that harbor, aboard a British ship, a (technical) prisoner named Francis Scott Key saw that flag. And in that moment — sleepless, uncertain, and overwhelmed — he scribbled lines that would outlast every cannonball fired that night. He didn’t know it would become a national anthem. He didn’t know anyone else would even read it. He didn’t know the war was nearly over. All he knew was that the flag was still there. And, somehow, that meant the country was too.
We look back now, across two centuries, with all our hindsight and all our complexity. The War of 1812 didn’t begin nobly. It was messy, disputed, and full of contradictions. But the story of the Battle of Baltimore — of that flag, that fort, and that poem — is a reminder that meaning often emerges not from perfection, but from perseverance.
If you’re listening/reading today and feeling disillusioned… unsure about what the American flag means to you or your fellow countrymen… you’re not alone. But this story isn’t about blind patriotism. It’s about a battered garrison holding the line. About a young country being tested and refusing to vanish. That flag didn’t mean we had won. It meant we had endured.
And sometimes, that’s enough to keep going.
So, if you’re American, keep going. If not, please wish us well, and keep going yourself. And every once in a while, when seeing the flag or taking off your hat while standing for the song pre-game, let your mind pretend you’re in Baltimore in 1814 and seeing the flag in dawns light, knowing that it meant a whole lot more than that it was dawn and just another day. It meant something both ineffable and yet so material, it meant the great experiment could go on.
When Francis Scott Key saw that flag at dawn, still waving after the long night, he didn’t see a perfect country. He saw a country that had held on — barely.
That image, frozen in smoke and light, asked a question we’re still answering today: “O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave…?”
If we want the answer to be yes, we have to live like – our home – is the home of the brave. Nothing else will hold.
Written by Sean Poynton Brna
Old Flow is the name of the music that was created for this episode. You can enjoy below!
References:
http://www.mapmanusa.com/cci-print-2.html
https://www.battlefields.org/learn/war-1812/battles/york
https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/capture-of-detroit-war-of-1812
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Francis-Scott-Key
https://www.history.com/topics/19th-century/the-star-spangled-banner
https://billofrightsinstitute.org/essays/fort-mchenry-and-the-war-of-1812
https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/our-flag-was-still-there-30050592
https://www.nps.gov/fomc/learn/historyculture/baltimore-saved.htm
