_A Day of Disaster._
“How hot it is; how hot it is!” said Lettice, on that memorable morning
of August 24, 1814. “How uncomfortable one can be in this world! Here
we sit nearly dead with the heat, and full of anxiety for our friends.
They are fighting, Patsey, fighting. My fathers! when it is so near
home one only then can realize the terror of it. Our poor fellows in
this choking, blinding dust, and with the sun pouring down on them,
must be in a pitiful state. And how will it end?” She wrung her hands,
and began to walk restlessly up and down the floor.
Patsey in a big chair, fanning herself languidly, said, “Letty dear,
you’ll not be any cooler for stirring about. Do try and sit still.”
“I can’t. Indeed, I cannot. Hark! Here comes some one.”
The door was suddenly opened, and before them stood a man, his features
so obscured by the dust, mud, and blood which plastered him from
head to foot, that he could not be recognized at first glance in the
semi-darkness of the room. He looked at them wildly and burst into a
hysterical laugh. “We ran,” he said, “all of us. We ran pell-mell,
head over heels, every mother’s son of us.” There was the sound of a
choking sob, and he drew his dusty sleeve across his eyes and sank into
a chair, breathing heavily.
Lettice ran to him. “William, Brother William,” she cried, “it is you!
Are you hurt?” She peered anxiously down into his face.
“Hurt? No; didn’t I tell you I ran? How could I be hurt?” He fairly
snapped out the words, and she looked at him bewildered.
“You poor boy,” she said gently, after a pause. “What a sight you are.
You must be worn out. Come, get freshened up a little and tell us all
about it.” She urged him into the next room, and they waited his return
in silence. Once Patsey said, “Do you suppose he is crazed, Lettice?”
She gave a short sob. “I don’t know. It is not unlikely, after this
day’s heat and fatigue. He never spoke so to me in all his life. Oh,
Patsey, did you see the blood?” Both shuddered, and again silence fell
till William appeared, looking somewhat more like himself. He stood
gazing fixedly at the wall and, without their questioning, began in a
hard voice:--
“We were marched and marched from pillar to post for no purpose but
to be kept marching it seemed. It was at Bladensburg that the British
were. We scarcely believed they were anywhere, but suddenly, when we
were exhausted with the heat and the dust and the fatigue of marching,
we went out to meet the enemy. Nobody seemed to know anything. All was
confusion and want of discipline. We began well enough, but somebody
cried, ‘Run,’ and there was a sudden panic. We did rally from that and
stayed our troops, but it was no use; some fool cried out that we were
beaten. We were not! We were not! By Heaven, it is too much! We were
holding our own well, but the idiots who started the stampede kept up
the cry, and, like a flock of sheep, one followed another till the
flight was complete. Barney’s marines fought well, I’ll say that for
them. I tried to get to them, for I had a dim sort of idea that I could
do my part, and at least save my honor by fighting with the sailors,
but I was swept along with the rest, and by and by became possessed
only with the notion of getting on as fast as I could. It seemed to
be the universal intention.” He laughed again mirthlessly. “We were
raw, undisciplined troops, to be sure, and our enemy had fought under
Wellington against Napoleon, but we could have beaten them, I am sure
of it. Why didn’t we? Why didn’t we?” He clenched his hands and strode
up and down the room.
Lettice watched him wistfully, not knowing what to say to this
discouraging tale. “Barney’s marines at least did good service,” at
last she said dolefully to Patsey in an undertone, “and I am sure my
brother would have stood his ground if he could, even if the others did
run away.”
William smiled grimly, and appeared to come to his senses. “I am not
here to excuse myself,” he said, “but to get you girls out of the city
as quickly as possible. The enemy are coming.”
“Truly? Here?” they cried, each grasping an arm, and looking at him in
alarm.
“Truly indeed.” He shook his head with rage, and bit his lip fiercely.
“War on paper, in truth. A pothering, chattering set of civilians,
without an idea of how war should be carried on, have allowed the enemy
to rout us, to beat us, to enter our capital. But there, girls, I’ll
not stop to vent my anger now. You must hurry over to Georgetown as
quickly as you can. We’ll not be the first. Listen!” He threw open a
shutter, and the girls looked forth, to see a terrified crowd of people
flocking from every direction. Wagons loaded with household goods were
rumbling past the house, all moving in the direction of Georgetown.
Patsey fled from the room. Below stairs already could be heard a
commotion of the removing of heavy furniture, of opening and shutting
of doors, of hurried footsteps.
“Get your things together, Lettice,” said her brother. “I will go
below and see if I can help Mrs. Gittings to get away. Where is Steve
Gittings?”
“He is with the militia,” Lettice told him.
“You mean _was_,” returned her brother, his grim humor not deserting
him. “Probably he cannot run as fast as I, or he would be here by this.”
Lettice for answer took his hand and laid her cheek against it.
“You are so tired,” she said. “Come, rest awhile. It must have been
terrible, marching in this dust and heat.”
“It was, but--if there had been any one to tell us what to do or where
to go, stiff, choking, miserable as we were, we could have maintained
our places; but it was simply a rabble, with nothing but confused
orders and no real head. What could we do?” He suddenly broke down and,
to Lettice’s distress, sobbed like a child.
She slipped from the room, and although Patsey and her sister were
hurrying to get their most valuable possessions together, she managed
to get a glass of raspberry shrub and a bit of bread to take to her
brother, for hunger was added to his other discomforts. She found that
he had regained his self-control and was busying himself in helping the
family to depart.
Mrs. Gittings, for the sake of her children, consented to flee. “But if
Steve comes, how will he know where we are?” she complained.
“He will know you are safe, and I am going to stay and see the end of
this; as soon as I get you safely over the bridge, I mean to come back
here,” William told her.
Lettice gave a half-suppressed, “Oh!”
He looked at her and smiled. “I can take care of myself. I proved that
this morning, and perhaps I can do some good in some direction. God
bless you, little sister.” He kissed her and lifted her upon a pile
of bedding in the wagon. Mrs. Gittings, with the children crying with
fright, and Patsey, scarcely less agitated, were already established
in the wagon, which at once set out to join the procession. There was
no room for another in the already full wagon, and although William
insisted in following on foot to see them safely out of town, they
persuaded him to remain where he was, telling him that he was too worn
out to do more, and that if he should drop by the way, he would but add
to their distresses.
The hot sun beat down mercilessly; the air was filled with stifling
dust as the long line of wagons and foot passengers, with not a few on
horseback, moved toward the bridge spanning the shores from Georgetown
to Virginia. The President and Mrs. Madison had gone over, the latter
waiting till the last moment to oversee the removal of a valuable
portrait of General Washington from the White House. Many officials
also could be seen in the midst of the frightened crowd that poured
over the bridge.
Lettice, with clasped hands and quivering lips, gazed at the white
walls of the Capitol looming up dimly through the veil of dust. Running
away! Every one was running away it seemed. Her mind took fantastic
ideas; they were a troop of ants swarming from an ant-hill; they were
the animals trooping into the ark; they were anything but the citizens
of an American city fleeing from a ruthless foe. The blinding, choking
dust enveloped her. It was the pillar of cloud which led the Children
of Israel. Yes, there were the multitudes crossing the Red Sea, with
Pharaoh and his host behind them, and yonder red flare on the shore was
the pillar of fire. These fancies possessed her as the wagon rumbled
on, and finally reached Georgetown, where it halted. “And over there is
the Promised Land,” she said aloud.
Patsey turned and looked at her. “Are you daft, too, Lettice?” she said.
“Yuh ladies bleedged ter git out,” said their sable driver; “dat hin’
wheel give a mighty ornery creak de las’ time we strike a rut, an’ I is
bleedged ter tinker her up a little befo’ we goes on.” And out they all
clambered, while Simon went off to a neighboring blacksmith shop for
assistance.
Patsey, with the hot hand of one little child in hers, stood among the
company of refugees, while Mrs. Gittings tried to soothe her fretful
baby. “If I only had a little milk to give him, I think he would be
quiet,” she said. “He is hungry, I know, poor darling. It was useless
to bring milk with us; it would not have kept an hour in this heat.”
“I’ll go and see if I can find any,” Patsey said. But the little Dolly
clung to her, crying, “I don’t want my Patsey to leave me.”
Lettice spoke up. “I’ll go, Patsey. I see a little place over yonder;
maybe I can get some milk there.” And without further words she crossed
the street to a shop on the other side. But no milk was to be had, and
she trudged farther off. The sun beat down on her, and she felt ready
to sink from exhaustion, for she remembered she had not eaten anything
since morning, and very little then. She looked for her purse, but
remembered that she had, in her excitement, placed it in her trunk. She
stood still in perplexity. She could only beg some milk for a hungry
baby; she could not offer to pay for it unless she went back to Patsey
for the money. She was about to re-cross the street, when a pair of
horses which had taken fright, came dashing along, and she felt herself
suddenly snatched back. Looking up she saw Mr. Baldwin.
“Miss Lettice,” he cried, “I did not dream it was you. Another moment
you would have been under those horses’ feet.”
“Yes, I know. I was just going to cross, and I got bewildered. I feel a
little queer.”
“And no wonder, in this broiling sun. I venture to say you have had
nothing to eat for hours and are tired as well.”
“That is about the truth. I was trying to get a sup of milk for Mrs.
Gittings’s baby. See, she and her sister are over there, by that wagon
at which the man is working. We came near having a breakdown and had to
halt.”
“You were on your way to Virginia, then?”
“Yes.”
“That is good. I think perhaps I can help you. See, there is
Tomlinson’s hotel; do you remember it?”
“Where the ball was held? Oh, yes.” She looked up at him and smiled,
and for the first time noticed that his face did not wear its usual
sunburnt hue. “You have been ill!” she exclaimed.
He held up a bandaged arm. “Yes, I have been. My hand and a bit of my
forearm were shot away about a month ago.”
“Oh, and were you very ill?”
“So, so. We will not talk of it now. Come, I think we can get the
desired milk in here. They know me well, for I put up here when I am in
town.”
“And you have been here, how long?”
“I arrived some days ago, but was scarcely in a state to pay my
respects. I am out for the first time to-day.”
“It is not a very good day, either. I am so very, very sorry to hear of
your wound,” said Lettice, looking her compassion.
They had reached the hotel by this time. Mr. Baldwin pushed open
the door and ushered her into the hall. How well she remembered the
place, and that night of rejoicing over victory. Now the triumphant
British were entering the city, and the little army of militia was
scattered. She remembered Mrs. Madison, as she stood there, the centre
of attraction. Now she, too, was a refugee. She had time for no further
reflections, for Mr. Baldwin returned with a cup of milk and a couple
of slices of bread with some cold meat.
“This is not very inviting,” he said, “but it was all I could get, and
it will stay you. Shall I carry the milk over to your friends, and will
you rest here till they are ready to go on?”
“No, I will go too. How good of you to get this,” she added gratefully.
They arrived before the little group waiting by the wagon, to find that
Simon persisted that he could not carry the load, for the vehicle was
weak anyhow, and might break down any minute, even if partly unloaded.
“It would be perfectly safe for any one to stay here, don’t you think
so?” Lettice asked Mr. Baldwin.
“Yes, I think it would; at least for the present,” was the answer.
“Then I will be the one to stay. I can go to some friend’s here, or I
could even go back to the house. I heard that ever so many families
were simply going to lock and bar themselves in, and would not leave.
Brother William will be there, and he would look out for me. Please
go on without me, Patsey. I am sure the Ingles will take me in. I
heard little Mary say that they were not going to leave.” And after
much protesting against all this, by Patsey and Mrs. Gittings, it
was decided that they would go on, and that Lettice should seek such
shelter as she could find.
“You are very brave,” Mr. Baldwin remarked, as they stood watching the
wagon slowly creaking along over the bridge. “But I remember it is not
the first time I have seen evidences of your courage. Now, we must find
you quarters,” he added.
“I should best like to return to Mrs. Gittings’s house.”
“I think you are safer here.”
“And you? To be sure you have not your uniform, but you will not expose
yourself to danger, will you?”
“Not unnecessarily. I am _hors de combat_, as you see, though I still
have a right arm I shall put to such service as I can. We must decide
upon the safest spot for you, Miss Lettice. Where shall it be?”
“I will return to Mrs. Gittings’s, if you will be so good as to take
me.”
“Please let me persuade you to remain here.”
“No, I feel worried about my brother. He was well-nigh crazed by
reason of his disappointment and fatigue, and I may be needed. I am
not afraid; truly I am not. If he is not there, I can take refuge with
neighbors.”
“I am very loath to agree to such a decree.”
“But if I so greatly desire it.”
“Even then I cannot feel that it is a wise thing to do.”
“But I assure you that others have remained who have quite as much at
stake. Mr. Henry Ingle’s home is close by the Gittings’; take me there,
and I shall be quite safe.” And at last overruled by her persuasions
he consented, and, after much trouble, a conveyance was found which
returned them to the city of Washington, into which the triumphant
British were already entering.
The silent house, bolted and closed, showed no signs of life when
Lettice and her companion appeared before it. “Do you think your
brother is here?” Mr. Baldwin asked.
“I hope so,” was the reply. “If we could go around by the back way, we
might get in. The key will be in its usual place. Mrs. Gittings was
particular that it should be, that her husband might be able to find
it, in case he should return.” They made their way around to the rear
of the house and discovered the key to the side door, where it had
been left under an overturned flower-pot. They let themselves in and
crept upstairs in the semi-darkness, going from room to room till they
found in a heavy slumber, outstretched upon one of the beds, Lettice’s
brother William.
“Poor fellow,” whispered the girl, “he is thoroughly worn out.”
She leaned over him, and he stirred slightly; then, conscious that some
one was looking at him, he opened his eyes and started up, crying,
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“Only your sister, brother dear,” Lettice answered.
“Lettice,” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here? What has happened? I
thought you safely over the river by this time.”
“The wagon broke down, and Simon declared it would not carry so many,
so I came back. Mr. Baldwin brought me.”
“Mr. Baldwin? Where did you encounter each other?” He peered around
and perceived the figure standing in the doorway. “Come in, my dear
fellow,” he exclaimed. “I owe you a debt for bringing this wayward
little sister of mine safely here. Aha! you are wounded? Were you with
the marines?”
“No, I was hurt in an engagement down the bay some weeks ago and have
been on the invalid list ever since. We beat them that time,” he
concluded quietly.
“You are fortunate in having so honorable a result. I wish I could say
the same.”
“Brother William is fairly morbid on the subject of to-day’s disaster,”
said Lettice. “Let us not talk of it.”
Her brother turned to her. “I have not heard how you and Mr. Baldwin
chanced to meet.”
“We encountered each other in Georgetown, where Mr. Baldwin has been
staying.”
“And where I tried to persuade Miss Lettice to remain.”
“And where I wouldn’t,” she added. “I thought if anything dreadful were
to befall us, I would choose to be with one of my own family, and I do
believe we are as safe here as anywhere.”
“Perhaps we are,” returned her brother, thoughtfully. “If persons keep
within doors, I think nothing will likely happen to them, unless the
enemy set fire to the city.”
“Oh, would they do that?”
“Have they not done so elsewhere? But never mind, little sister,
we’ll have to take the risks, now we are here. You will not think of
returning, Mr. Baldwin, with the streets full of British soldiers.”
“No, he must not,” Lettice said decidedly.
“I bow to your decision, which is more than you did to mine,” he
returned, smiling.
“Hark!” cried Lettice.
“They are here,” groaned her brother. For now the tread of advancing
feet, the exultant shouts of a victorious army, were heard. Night was
approaching, close and warm after the hot, debilitating day, when up
the avenue came the irregular lines of the British.
“It is fairly suffocating in here,” said Lettice; “let us open
the windows.” But the words were hardly out of her mouth before a
shot struck the closed shutters, and the girl started back with an
exclamation of alarm.
“I think we shall have to stand the heat,” remarked her brother,
quietly. And indeed it would have been a rash thing to open the
shutters, for every now and then, from the ranks of the redcoats were
sent stray bullets to fall harmlessly, since no one dared to open a
door or window.
“If only they don’t fire the town,” said William, as he walked the
floor restlessly. Lettice, with a strained look on her face, sat with
clasped hands in one of the farther corners of the room. At last Mr.
Baldwin, more venturesome than the others, opened a shutter a little
way and peeped out.
“They seem flocking from every direction,” he said, as he drew in his
head. “The streets are full of them, shouting, singing, firing on
whomever they chance to see.”
“What was that?” cried Lettice, springing to her feet. For from the
direction of the Capitol came the sound of a rattle of musketry,
followed closely by a second volley, both accompanied by the crash of
glass.
“Ah-h,” groaned William, “they have not the manhood even to spare
that;” for through the clinks of the shutters could be seen the glare
and smoke of an ascending fire. The Capitol was in flames.