that time by the heroic Colonel Armistead with a garrison of only 1,000 men and an armament of guns far inferior to that of the enemy.
The attack was made by the British Admiral at early morning, with a squadron of sixteen vessels, and the engagement lasted through the day, night closing upon the combatants in the midst of a terrific storm of shot and shell—not a single vessel having succeeded in cutting its way through. At midnight the British commander made an assault by land with a picked body of 1,500 men, hoping to carry the defences by storm, but the gallant band of defenders, though wearied with the long struggle of the day, met the assailants successfully at every point, repelling them again and again with terrific slaughter until at length the British General gave up in despair, withdrew his forces, and left the fort and the city to the peaceful possession of their heroic and gallant defenders.
On one of the British transports lying just outside of the harbor was Francis Key, a patriot of Maryland, held as a State prisoner because of his loyalty to the American cause. Confined between decks, where he could hear the din of the conflict, but could learn nothing of the results, he spent the long night in anxious thought of the banner which he loved waving upon the walls of Fort McHenry, and in earnest prayer that it might not go down before the enemy's furious assault. When the morning light had broken again over the scene, and the din of conflict was hushed, and his eye caught a view of the flag of his country still waving upon the ramparts of the old fortress, his exultation found expression in that hymn which has immortalized both his name and the banner he so loved—
| "O say can you see by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming." |
He little thought that the day would come when that same banner—the emblem to him of freedom from oppression—would still wave over Fort McHenry, and beneath its folds, patriots of Maryland, as pure and noble-hearted as himself, should, under a like stigma of rebellion, waste away their lives in dreary casements and under galling fetters of imprisonment.
All this, however, is merely by way of introduction to the old fortress, of whose hospitalities I was permitted, during the summer of 1863, to partake. At the time of my first introduction, it was
