The Ghosts of Haunted Fort McHenry

Fort McHenry's first decade was relatively quiet, but tensions between the United States and Great Britain had been building since the Revolution ended. British impressment of American sailors, trade restrictions, and conflicts over western territories finally erupted into war in June 1812.

The War of 1812 went poorly for the United States initially. British forces, freed from fighting Napoleon in Europe after his first defeat, turned their attention to America. In August 1814, British troops captured Washington D.C. and burned the White House and Capitol building. Baltimore knew it would be next.

Major George Armistead was given command of Fort McHenry in 1813. Armistead, a veteran officer, immediately began strengthening the fort's defenses. He increased the garrison, stockpiled ammunition, and worked with Baltimore civilians to create additional fortifications around the city. Armistead was determined that Fort McHenry would not fall as easily as Washington had.

In a gesture that would prove prophetic, Armistead commissioned a massive American flag to fly over the fort - so large that "the British will have no difficulty in seeing it from a distance." Mary Pickersgill and her daughter sewed the 30-by-42-foot garrison flag, along with a smaller storm flag for bad weather. It was this enormous flag that would inspire Francis Scott Key just over a year later.

On September 12, 1814, British forces landed at North Point, about 14 miles from Baltimore. The land battle that followed saw the British advance but at the cost of their commander, General Robert Ross, who was killed by American sharpshooters. Meanwhile, the British fleet of approximately 19 ships moved into position to bombard Fort McHenry.

The bombardment began at dawn on September 13, 1814. British ships, anchored about two miles from the fort (beyond the range of Fort McHenry's cannons but within range of their own mortars and rockets), unleashed a devastating barrage. For 25 hours, the fort endured an estimated 1,500 to 1,800 shells.

The defenders could do little but endure. The British were too far away for Fort McHenry's cannons to reach, so the approximately 1,000 men in the fort could only take cover and wait. Major Armistead had arranged to have sunk ships at key positions in the harbor channel, preventing the British fleet from approaching closer - a decision that saved the fort, as the enemy couldn't move into effective range for a direct assault.

Despite the intensity of the bombardment, casualties were remarkably light. Only four Americans were killed and 24 wounded. But those four deaths would have lasting significance - both historically and, according to witnesses, supernaturally.

Francis Scott Key, a Baltimore lawyer, had gone aboard the British flagship HMS Tonnant under a flag of truce to negotiate the release of an American prisoner. The British agreed to release the prisoner but detained Key and his companions during the bombardment, not wanting them to reveal British positions and strength.

Key spent the night of September 13-14 watching the bombardment from the deck of a ship in the British fleet. Through the darkness, lit by the red glare of Congreve rockets and exploding shells, he could occasionally make out the American flag still flying over Fort McHenry. As long as the flag flew, the fort had not surrendered.

As dawn broke on September 14, the bombardment ceased. Key anxiously looked toward the fort through the smoke and morning mist. Then he saw it: the enormous garrison flag, which Armistead had ordered raised at first light to replace the smaller storm flag, flying triumphantly over Fort McHenry. The fort had held. Baltimore was saved.

Key, overwhelmed with emotion and patriotic fervor, began writing a poem on the back of a letter he had in his pocket. The poem, originally titled "Defence of Fort M'Henry," would be set to the tune of a popular British song and eventually become "The Star-Spangled Banner," America's national anthem.

What Key couldn't have known was that some of the men who defended the fort that night, who stood their ground through 25 hours of terrifying bombardment, would continue standing guard for more than two centuries to come.

Following its successful defense, Fort McHenry became a symbol of American resilience. The fort continued serving as an active military installation, adapting to changing military needs and technologies.

During the Civil War, Fort McHenry took on a new role as a military prison. Baltimore was a Confederate-sympathizing city in a Union state, and Fort McHenry held political prisoners, Confederate soldiers, and Union deserters. Conditions were often harsh, and several prisoners died there. Some believe these unhappy souls contribute to the fort's supernatural activity.

The fort was modernized several times, with new batteries and weapons added as military technology advanced. It remained an active military post through World War I and wasn't fully decommissioned until 1925. In 1933, Fort McHenry was designated a National Monument and Historic Shrine, ensuring its preservation as a site of national significance.

Today, Fort McHenry is operated by the National Park Service and welcomes hundreds of thousands of visitors annually. Most come for the history - to walk where patriots stood, to see where the national anthem was born, to connect with an important moment in American history. But some visitors get more than they expected, encountering the spirits of men who defended this ground and never truly left.

John Clemm came from a prominent Baltimore family with strong military traditions. His father had served in the Revolutionary War, and young John grew up with stories of the fight for independence. When war with Britain came again in 1812, Clemm immediately joined the army, receiving a commission as a lieutenant in the artillery.

He was assigned to Fort McHenry in early 1814 and quickly earned the respect of both his commanding officer Major Armistead and the men under his command. Clemm was known for his attention to detail, his calm under pressure, and his genuine concern for his soldiers' wellbeing. He would personally inspect each cannon, ensure ammunition was properly stored, and check that his men had adequate food and shelter.

In May 1814, Clemm married Elizabeth Ridgely, daughter of another prominent Baltimore family. They had only four months together before the British attack. Elizabeth reportedly begged John to resign his commission after the British burned Washington, fearing Baltimore would be next and that he would be killed defending it. Clemm refused, saying he had a duty to his men and his city.

"Where else would I be," he allegedly told her the night before the bombardment, "when Baltimore needs every man who can stand on these walls? I'll be here when this is over, Elizabeth. I promise."

It was a promise he kept - though not in the way either of them imagined.

The bombardment had continued through the night of September 13-14. Clemm's position on the northwest bastion had taken heavy fire, but his men had held steady. As dawn approached and the bombardment seemed to be slowing, Clemm moved along the rampart, checking on his men, assessing damage, preparing for what he assumed would be a British landing assault once the bombardment ended.

Major Armistead had ordered the large garrison flag raised at first light to replace the storm flag that had flown during the night. Clemm watched it being raised, the enormous banner unfurling in the early morning breeze. He reportedly smiled and turned to one of his sergeants: "That flag will be here when we're all dead and forgotten. Baltimore will remember this day forever."

Minutes later, one of the last British shells of the bombardment struck the northwest bastion. The explosion killed two men instantly and mortally wounded a third. Lieutenant Clemm, standing near the impact point, was hit by multiple pieces of shrapnel. He died within moments, his blood staining the brick rampart where he'd stood watch throughout that long, terrifying night.

His body was taken to his family home on Charles Street. Elizabeth, who had stayed awake through the entire bombardment listening to the distant thunder of guns and praying for her husband's safety, learned he was dead when she saw his body being carried into the house. She screamed that he'd promised to come home, that he'd sworn he would return to her.

In a way, John Clemm kept that promise - though not as the living, breathing man Elizabeth had married.

The first reported sighting of Lieutenant Clemm's ghost came less than a month after his death. A sergeant who had served under Clemm was walking guard duty on the ramparts just after midnight when he saw a figure in an officer's uniform inspecting the cannons on the northwest bastion. The sergeant called out a challenge, as required when encountering anyone on the fort's walls at night.

The figure turned, and the sergeant recognized Lieutenant Clemm's face in the moonlight. The sergeant stood frozen in shock - he had attended Clemm's funeral, had seen his former officer buried. Before he could speak, Clemm smiled and said, "Carry on, Sergeant. The fort is secure." Then he simply faded away, becoming progressively more transparent until he vanished entirely.

The sergeant reported the incident to his commanding officer, who initially suspected alcohol was involved. But when the sergeant insisted he'd been completely sober, and when other soldiers began reporting similar encounters, the fort's command had to take the reports seriously.

Over the following weeks, multiple soldiers reported seeing Lieutenant Clemm on the ramparts, always on the northwest bastion where he'd been killed, always seeming to be on inspection duty or watching the harbor approaches. He would acknowledge soldiers who saw him, sometimes speaking briefly, but would always vanish after a few moments.

The reports became so consistent that some soldiers began to find Clemm's presence comforting rather than frightening. "If Lieutenant Clemm is still watching over the fort," one private was quoted as saying, "then Baltimore must still be safe."

Reports of Lieutenant Clemm's ghost have continued for more than 200 years, with remarkable consistency in descriptions and behaviors that make mass hallucination or hoaxing difficult to sustain as explanations.

During the Civil War, when Fort McHenry served as a military prison, guards reported encountering Clemm regularly. One guard wrote in his diary: "Saw the officer ghost again tonight. He walks the northwest wall as if checking defenses. He seems troubled by the fort's use as a prison - perhaps he doesn't approve of Americans imprisoning Americans in the place that symbolizes our freedom."

In the early 20th century, when the fort was still an active military installation, multiple soldiers filed official reports of encountering a Revolutionary-era officer (they misidentified his uniform period, but the descriptions matched Clemm) on the ramparts. One report from 1910 described a young officer who appeared solid and real until the reporting soldier tried to question him about his lack of proper modern uniform, at which point the figure "dissolved like morning mist."

After Fort McHenry became a National Monument, park rangers and maintenance workers took over reporting Clemm sightings. The accounts remained consistent: a young man in an 1814 artillery officer's uniform, usually seen on or near the northwest bastion, often seeming to inspect the fort's defenses.

One park ranger who worked at Fort McHenry for 25 years reported encountering Clemm at least a dozen times: "He's as real as you or me until you look away and look back. Then he's gone. But I've seen him clearly enough to make out his facial features, the buttons on his uniform, even the insignia on his collar. He's always doing the same thing - walking the ramparts, checking the fort, standing watch. It's like he's caught in a loop, endlessly repeating his duty from that night in 1814."

Visitors to Fort McHenry continue to report encounters with Lieutenant Clemm, and some accounts provide remarkable detail that suggests genuine paranormal experiences rather than imagination or misperception.

In 2008, a family visiting from Ohio was exploring the fort around dusk when the mother photographed her children standing on the northwest bastion. When she reviewed the photo later, a figure in a military uniform was clearly visible standing behind her children, though no one else had been present when she took the picture. The figure was partially transparent, and his uniform was clearly from a much earlier era than modern military dress. When she showed the photo to a park ranger, the ranger immediately identified the figure as matching known descriptions of Lieutenant Clemm.

A Civil War reenactor visiting in 2012 had a more direct encounter. Walking the ramparts at sunset, he encountered a young man in period military dress and, assuming he was a fellow reenactor, struck up a conversation about the fort's history. The stranger demonstrated encyclopedic knowledge of the fort's defenses and the 1814 bombardment, speaking about events as if he'd been present. When the reenactor mentioned he was impressed by the stranger's authenticity to the 1814 period, the man smiled sadly and said, "I wish it were just reenacting." He then walked toward the northwest bastion and, in the fading light, simply vanished. The reenactor insists the man didn't walk away or hide - he literally disappeared while being watched.

A particularly poignant encounter occurred in 2015 during a veteran's visit to the fort. The elderly Marine Corps veteran, who had served in Vietnam, was sitting alone on the northwest bastion watching the sunset when a young man in what he initially thought was a period costume sat down beside him. The man asked if the veteran had served his country, and when the answer was yes, he said, "Then you understand duty. You understand standing post no matter the cost." They sat in silence for several minutes before the young man said, "This place is worth defending. It always was. I never regretted staying at my post." The veteran turned to respond, but the man was gone. Later, when describing the encounter to a park ranger, the veteran broke down in tears: "I recognized him from the portrait in the visitor center. That was Lieutenant Clemm. I sat next to a ghost, and I felt more understood by him than by most living people I know."

Paranormal researchers and historians have offered several theories about why Lieutenant John Clemm's spirit remains at Fort McHenry when the other three men killed during the bombardment apparently do not.

One theory focuses on Clemm's promise to his wife. He told Elizabeth he would return to her, that he would be there when the battle was over. His death broke that promise, and some believe his spirit is bound to Fort McHenry by unfinished business - the need to fulfill his vow, even if only symbolically, by remaining at the place where he made it.

Another theory suggests Clemm's death at the moment of victory trapped him in that moment. He died seeing the American flag still flying, knowing the fort had held, experiencing the pride and relief of successful defense. Perhaps his spirit is locked in that emotional high point, unable to move beyond the satisfaction of duty fulfilled.

A third theory, popular among those who work at Fort McHenry, is simpler: Lieutenant Clemm loved the fort, loved his duty, and loved his country. In death, he continues doing what gave his life meaning - standing watch over Baltimore, ensuring the fort's defenses are maintained, protecting the place that became a symbol of American resilience. He's not trapped; he's chosen to stay.

Whichever explanation is correct, Lieutenant John Clemm's presence at Fort McHenry has become part of the fort's identity. He's mentioned in some tour scripts, referenced in paranormal investigation shows, and has become almost an unofficial guardian spirit of this national shrine. And according to those who've encountered him, he doesn't seem distressed or confused - he seems to be exactly where he wants to be, doing exactly what he wants to do, for eternity.

Ironically, some of Fort McHenry's ghosts appear to be British soldiers - enemies of the fort during the famous bombardment. These apparitions are rare but have been reported consistently over the decades.

Most sightings occur near the water's edge, particularly on the seawall facing the harbor. Witnesses describe seeing men in British naval uniforms, sometimes appearing to be wounded or in distress, staring toward the fort with expressions described as confused or lost.

One theory suggests these spirits are British sailors who died during the bombardment. While the British ships were supposedly out of range of Fort McHenry's guns, historical records indicate that several American cannons did achieve the range, firing a few shots that struck British vessels. British casualties were light but not zero, and perhaps some of those who died in Baltimore Harbor remain, unable to find their way home.

A park ranger reported a particularly unsettling encounter in 2005: "I was locking up after a sunset ceremony when I saw a man in what looked like a period British naval uniform standing by the seawall. He was soaking wet, as if he'd just climbed out of the harbor. I called out to him, thinking he was a reenactor who'd had some kind of accident. He turned to look at me, and his face was... wrong. Pale, almost blue, with this expression of absolute terror. Then he just wasn't there anymore. I searched the area - if he'd been real and injured, I needed to help him. But there was no one, and the spot where he'd been standing was completely dry."

During the Civil War, Fort McHenry held Confederate soldiers, Union deserters, and political prisoners - anyone Maryland's Union authorities deemed dangerous. Conditions were harsh, space was limited, and several prisoners died there from disease, exposure, or violence.

The areas of the fort that served as prison cells report the most concentrated paranormal activity outside of the ramparts. Visitors describe overwhelming feelings of sadness and desperation, the sensation of being watched by hostile presences, and accounts of hearing men crying, arguing, or calling for help.

The fort's powder magazine, which served as a particularly harsh confinement area for troublesome prisoners, is the site of especially intense activity. Multiple visitors have reported feeling suddenly ill or claustrophobic when entering the magazine, and some have been overcome with panic severe enough to require them to leave immediately.

One paranormal investigation team documented audio recordings in the magazine that appear to capture multiple male voices speaking at once, though no living persons were present. The voices seem to be arguing, pleading, and in some cases screaming - audio that investigators described as "the most disturbing EVP we've ever recorded."

Several psychics who have visited Fort McHenry report sensing the presence of a Confederate officer who died in the prison, though accounts differ on whether he died from illness or was killed by guards. This spirit is described as angry, not at modern visitors, but at his imprisonment and the circumstances of his death. He apparently has no interest in interacting with the living and remains focused on whatever internal torment drives his haunting.

One of Fort McHenry's most frequently reported paranormal phenomena doesn't involve seeing ghosts but hearing them - specifically, hearing the thunder of cannon fire when no reenactment or demonstration is scheduled.

Park rangers, visitors, and nearby residents periodically report hearing what sounds like artillery firing from the direction of Fort McHenry. The sounds are described as authentic - the deep boom of large guns, nothing like fireworks or modern explosions. Sometimes single reports are heard, other times prolonged barrages that last minutes.

These phantom cannons are most often reported on September 13-14, the anniversary of the famous bombardment. Multiple people have documented experiences of hearing extensive cannon fire on these dates, only to learn that no fort activities involving cannons were scheduled.

In 1989, a television news crew filming a story about Fort McHenry on the bombardment anniversary captured audio of what sounds like sustained artillery fire. The sound lasted nearly three minutes on their recording, and the crew confirmed no reenactment or demonstration was occurring. Audio analysis suggested the sounds were genuine artillery fire, not modern weapons or reproductions.

Some witnesses report seeing flashes of light accompanying the phantom cannon sounds, as if they're seeing the muzzle flash of guns that aren't physically there. These flashes appear in the same positions where Fort McHenry's actual cannons are located, suggesting the phenomenon is somehow "replaying" actual historical events.

Skeptics attribute the sounds to distant thunder, military exercises from Aberdeen Proving Ground (about 30 miles away), or acoustic anomalies. But the timing - concentrated around September 13-14 - and the number of witnesses who specifically identify the sounds as period artillery suggest something more unusual may be occurring.

Fort McHenry conducts daily flag ceremonies, lowering the American flag at sunset and raising it at sunrise. These ceremonies are moving tributes to the fort's history and significance, often attended by visitors and patriotic organizations. But according to multiple reports, not all attendees are among the living.

Park rangers and regular visitors report frequently seeing an elderly woman in dark clothing attending sunset flag ceremonies. She stands at respectful attention, often crying quietly, and is always alone. Rangers have approached her multiple times to ensure she's alright, and each time, she thanks them, says she's just emotional about the ceremony, and then disappears before the ceremony ends.

One ranger described the encounter: "I've approached her at least five times over the years. She's always wearing the same dark dress, very old-fashioned, and she's always crying. I ask if she's okay, she says yes, thanks me for asking, and tells me to go ahead with the ceremony. Then, when I look for her after the flag is lowered, she's gone. Not walked away - gone. And no one ever remembers seeing her leave."

Some believe this spirit is Elizabeth Ridgely Clemm, Lieutenant John Clemm's widow. Historical records show Elizabeth never remarried after John's death and would often visit Fort McHenry to stand where her husband died. She lived until 1879, making her one of the last living links to the 1814 bombardment. Perhaps she continues visiting in death, attending flag ceremonies and remembering the husband who died defending the fort.

When rangers have mentioned the mysterious woman to long-time Fort McHenry volunteers, several have independently said they've also noticed her and assumed she was someone else's guest. The realization that everyone has seen her but no one knows who she is has become something of an open secret among fort staff.

Fort McHenry closes to visitors at 5 PM most of the year. After dark, when the fort is locked and empty, security systems and park rangers monitor the site. Yet lights are frequently reported in the fort when no one should be there and no official lighting has been activated.

These aren't modern electric lights but rather what witnesses describe as lantern-like lights - the yellowish, flickering glow of flame-based illumination. The lights move through the fort as if carried by unseen hands, traveling along the ramparts, through the barracks, and across the parade ground.

Security cameras have captured these lights on multiple occasions. The footage shows orbs and moving lights that don't correspond to any known light source. Rangers who investigate when cameras pick up the lights consistently find no one present and no explanation for the illumination.

One former park ranger described responding to a security alert about lights in the fort: "The camera showed multiple lights moving along the northwest rampart. I drove over immediately - it takes about five minutes from the ranger station. When I got there, I could see the lights myself - maybe six or seven of them, moving like people walking with lanterns. I approached on foot, and as I got closer, I could swear I heard voices, like men talking quietly. But when I reached the rampart, there was nothing. No lights, no people, no explanation. The stones were warm though, like someone had been there. And I felt watched the entire time I was checking the area."