The War of 1812 had a special bearing on the history of Washington. It had been in progress almost two years when, early in the summer of 1814, rumor told of a great British armada fitting out at Bermuda, some thought to attack New York, others Baltimore, Annapolis and Washington. On the night of August 19, 1814, a courier, dashing at full speed over the sandy roads of Maryland, drew rein for an instant at every little post-town and shouted the warning note: “To arms! The British have landed at Benedict, and are marching inland. To arms!” Then at once it was known that the city of Washington was the object of the invasion. The British forces now marching upon the city numbered 5123. They were some of Wellington’s veterans, fresh from the fields of France and Spain. Opposed to them and in defence of the city, General Winder had nearly six thousand men. Only nine hundred of these were regular troops. The attempt to resist the invasion resulted in the battle of Bladensburg, which was fought near the spot which later became famous as duelling-grounds. A brief but brave defence was made, the raw and undrilled American troops being compelled to give way to the disciplined veterans who had fought with Wellington. [Illustration: STATE, WAR AND NAVY BUILDING. FROM THE SOUTHEAST.] Washington has had its days of tragedy. Two American Presidents have been assassinated within the city, and its inhabitants shuddered at the approach of Southern armies during the Civil War. But at no other time in the history of the Federal city has there been such a moment of supreme terror as on the night of the 24th of August, 1814, when the British gave to the flames the Capitol, the President’s house, the Navy Yard and the Treasury. President Madison and his Cabinet had taken refuge in flight; the frightened citizens were hurrying bewildered into Virginia when, towards sunset, General Ross and Admiral Cockburn drew up their troops on the esplanade east of the Capitol. Thus far the movement had been conducted according to the rigid etiquette of war, but the spectacle of the American capital at their mercy awoke both in officers and men the wanton spirit of revenge. American school-books have perpetuated the unique fable that the British held a mock session in the Hall of the House of Representatives; that Cockburn from the Speaker’s desk, while the soldiers filled the seats, put the question: “Shall this harbor of Yankee democracy be burned?” and that, when the motion was boisterously carried, gave orders to apply the torch. The scene is an imaginary one; the tale is a piece of romance. It is the sort of historical fiction that Lamartine delighted to invent to add dramatic interest to events.