Land of the Free (54 page)

“I’m not. Over my most
vigorous protests, Governor Claiborne convinced General Jackson
that this was necessary to pacify the public.”

She managed to pull free
then darted away when he reached for her again. “Public
pacification wouldn’t be necessary if your General Jackson wasn’t
so heavy handed. Private homes have been searched without due
process and private weapons and ammunition have been confiscated.
Men have been put into prison for refusal to serve the army. It’s a
disgrace.”

Yank’s answer was cut off by
an earth-shattering explosion and a shower of rockets. He tackled
Marina and covered her with his body as a barrage of cannonballs
crashed through the walls and roof of the McCarty house.

“Get off me,” Marina
complained, pushing against his chest.

Yank rolled to his feet,
scooped her up and lumbered toward the breastworks along with a
hundred other uniformed men. When they reached the mud wall, Yank
dropped her unceremoniously, pointed his finger at her and shouted,
“Stay right there on that spot. If you move, I’ll shoot you in the
leg.” He raced off toward the center where Jackson and Coffee had
just arrived.

Marina flinched as Dominique
You’s cannon fired from her right and another from her left. Back
toward the house, she could see civilians and soldiers running in
all directions. The band had abandoned their instruments but seemed
to have no idea where they should go. The noise was deafening. The
plantation house was still being struck but it was
standing.

“You’re to come with me,
Ma’am,” a young ensign said, offering her his hand.

“Where?”

“I’m under orders to knock
you out if you resist, Ma’am. I’ve never hit a woman. Don’t make
me, please.”

She reached up, took his
hand and let him pull her up to her feet. “Where are you taking
me?”

“To a bunker just over
here.” He led her by the hand to a rectangular hole that contained
a cotton bale which seemed to be floating in muddy water. “Jump
down there, Ma’am. Then keep to this side. It isn’t a hundred
percent safe, but it’s the best we can do.”

“I’m not jumping down
there,” she said indignantly.

“If I have to throw you in
you’re likely to end up in the water and it’s danged
cold.”

She looked at him then
stepped to the edge and jumped down onto the cotton bale. The noise
in the hole was muffled a bit but if she looked up, Marina could
still see ordinance streaming overhead.

“Howdy, Ma’am.” A very young
face appeared over the edge of the hole. “You doin’ okay down
there?”

“Okay?” She chuckled. “Let
me guess. You’re from Tennessee.”

“Right you are,
Ma’am.”

“What happened to the ensign
that dumped me here?”

“He’s back on the line now
and I’m here.”

“Did you come to help me out
of this hole or to keep me company?”

“Neither one, Ma’am. I come
to shoot anybody that tries to harm you.”

“I see,” she said. Then she
shook her head. “No. I don’t see. How are you, one boy, going to
protect me from the entire British army?”

“Oh I ain’t gonna fight the
whole British army, Ma’am. Just any that manages to come around our
weak side, yonder.” He gestured toward the swamp.

“That’s fine if they come
one at a time.”

“I got ten loaded rifles,
four pistols, plenty o’ powder and bullets. If our boys lets more
than fourteen around, we’re all goners anyhow.”

“What if you
miss?”

“Oh I never do that,
Ma’am.”

“Never?”

“Never. I’m what they calls
a sharpshooter. I can hit a squirrel in the eye at three hundred
yards.”

“That must be a useful
skill,” she said sarcastically.

“It is,” he agreed. “When
all you got to eat is that squirrel, spoilin’ any meat ain’t
good.”

“If you’re so good, why are
they wasting you back here? You should be up there on the line
shooting at the British.”

“General Jackson don’t want
me on the line, Ma’am. He says I’m too valuable. I go out at night
by myself, mostly.”

“At night? What
for?”

“Oh I shoot a few o’ the
sentries and then some officers that’s standin’ around a fire.
Makes them Englishmen plumb nervous.”

“That sounds like something
my husband thought up.”

“No, Ma’am. At least I don’t
think so.”

“How old are
you?”

“Sixteen.
Almost.”

~

By the time the sun was
directly over Marina’s head, the cannon fire had diminished to a
blast every few minutes. An hour later, it stopped altogether and
Yank appeared, leaning into the hole to offer her his hand. She got
up, brushed herself off and caught his hand. “How many
dead?”

“Eleven.” He pulled her up,
held onto her hand and began walking away from the mud
wall.

“Where are you taking
me?”

“Back to the reviewing area
where you can catch a ride back to the city.”

She pulled her hand free but
kept walking. “I came to talk to you.”

“You picked a bad
time.”

“When would be a good
time?”

“I’d guess this will be over
in a week. One way or the other.”

“Are we going to
win?”

“I think we might. We
shouldn’t. We’re ill-equipped, ill-trained and unprofessional. But
I think we just might whip the best army in the world.”

“If I go now, will you
promise to talk to me when this is over?”

“If I’m able.”

She gave him a disapproving
look. “Now why would you say something like that?”

“Because some time in the
next few days, forty-thousand men are going to face each other on
that cane field out there and a fair number of them will die. One
of them could be me.”

“It won’t be.” She kissed
him on the cheek then raised her hand. “Hey. You in the coach. Wait
for me.” When the coach stopped and the driver beckoned excitedly,
she raised her skirts above her knees and ran.

Yank watched her all the way
to the coach and then watched the coach until it was out of
sight.

January 6, 1815

Rodriguez Canal,
Louisiana

After the fiasco of the New
Year’s celebration, the British began the mammoth undertaking of
digging a canal across Villeré’s plantation connecting the bayou to
the river. This morning, as the fog began to lift, Jackson, Yank
and several senior officers observed that the work was completed
and that two new regiments from England were moving into
position.

“It would appear that time
has run out, gentlemen,” Jackson announced.

Yank looked at Jean Lafitte
who was standing to his right. “Can you find out what regiments
those are?”

“The
7
^th
and 43
^rd
under command of General John Lambert,” Lafitte
replied.

“Do you withhold these
little tidbits for dramatic affect?” Yank complained.

“I only learned of it ten
minutes ago,” Lafitte chuckled.

“When did they arrive from
England?” Jackson asked.

“Last night, General,”
Lafitte answered. He pointed toward the cypress swamp. “What are
your intentions for the unfinished end of the breastworks, General
Van Buskirk?”

“
My intentions had been to
finish it, Captain Lafitte,” Yank grumbled. “But as General Jackson
has pointed out, we seem to have run out of time.”

“I doubt that they’ll come
today,” Jackson said. “Those new men will need to adjust to being
on land.”

“I have a suggestion,”
Lafitte said.

“We’re always willing to
hear your suggestions, sir,” Jackson replied. He was once more
peering through his telescope at the British line.

“If we do not have
sufficient time to complete the redoubt,” Lafitte said, “why not
fortify the unfinished end to prevent the British from turning our
flank?”

“We have General Coffee
there,” Jackson replied. “He will not permit that flank to be
turned.”

“But,” Yank said, looking
toward the swamp. “A fortification down there would be of enormous
help to him and could save a lot of lives. Even if it’s only a
double row of fence posts at a right angle.”

“I doubt that we have more
than today and tonight,” Jackson said. “What kind of works could be
built in that time?”

“Well,” Yank was still
looking at the unfinished end. “The plan today was to continue
toward the swamp but if we turned at a right angle instead it would
give our riflemen and musketeers some protection against any attack
on the flank.”

“How far could you go in a
day?” Jackson asked.

“Far enough to support two
or three companies, I should think,” Yank said. “We could also
position a few of the field pieces down there so that they could be
swung about to fire toward the swamp if needed.”

“See to it,” Jackson
said.

“Captain Lafitte,” Yank said
as he started off along the mud wall toward the swamp.

Lafitte hurried to catch up.
“The unfinished end will stop a musket ball but it will be blown to
bits by a cannonball.”

“A large cannonball will
certainly penetrate but earth between the two log walls should
disperse the energy enough to prevent large breaches.”

“I was thinking more of the
men who will be defending the unfinished end rather than any
opening for attackers.”

“I’m not following
you.”

“I was just thinking that
the men might benefit from foxholes.”

Yank shook his head. “Any
foxhole deep enough to afford protection from cannon fire would
fill with water.”

“Better wet than
dead.”

“The cold kills slower than
a cannonball, but the result is the same.”

“Coffee’s men are living and
sleeping in mud,” Lafitte argued.

“And they’re dying in the
mud. I’ll agree to move some additional cotton bales up, but no fox
holes.”

“General Carroll’s men will
be defending from battery six to the swamp. Should he not be
consulted?”

Yank was beginning to look
annoyed. “General Carroll is as adamantly opposed to foxholes as
you are in favor. The decision is made, Captain
Lafitte.”

“But, if Coffee’s men can…”
Lafitte began.

“Wait.” Yank stopped walking
and turned toward the other man. “I know how difficult this must be
for you to take orders after being in godlike control of your own
fleet, Captain, but at some point discussion becomes
counterproductive.”

Lafitte nodded but looked
less than happy.

“Your ideas, your men, your
cannons, powder and shot have been more than valuable, Captain,”
Yank continued. “I personally am very grateful.” He patted Lafitte
on the shoulder. “No foxholes.”

Laffite gave him a typically
Gallic shrug. “‘Tis a pity.”

Yank was looking toward
the rear where the Kentucky Militia under the command of Generals
John Thomas and John Adair was assembled. They had arrived on the
4
^th
,
dressed in rags with few weapons. Donations had been solicited from
citizens to buy wool which volunteer women knitted and wove into
clothes for the Kentucky soldiers but even after another search of
the city, only half the twenty-three hundred men were armed. “Do
you think they’ll come tonight or in the morning?”

“They might wait another day
or two.”

Yank began walking again.
“From your lips to God’s ear.”

January 8, 1815

Rodriguez Canal,
Louisiana

Yank crept through the
night, then lay flat in the cane stubble. “Scout coming
in.”

“Who goes there,” the sentry
at the outpost whispered from the darkness.

“Van Buskirk.”

“Advance,
General.”

Yank got up and moved slowly
toward the American line. “Thank you, Higgins. Good morning to
you.”

“And to you,
sir.”

Yank moved past the outpost,
found the ladder and climbed over the palisade and dropped onto the
muddy rampart. “Good morning, General Jackson. You’re up a bit
early.”

“I asked to be awakened if
there was any activity on the enemy’s new canal. I don’t suppose
chastising you for exposing yourself would do any good.”

“I saw the activity on the
canal and wanted to investigate it for myself,” Yank
replied.

“We have scouts for
that.”

“None of our scouts are
experienced enough to properly judge a large movement such as this
one.”

“What have you discovered
from your adventure?”