Land of the Free (55 page)
“Well, the banks of their
canal have caved in so that only a couple of dozen boats actually
made it to the river,” Yank chuckled. “It also looked like the
coxswains were surprised by the Mississippi’s current and it seems
many of them are now downstream fighting to get back from the
Gulf.”
“Perhaps they will
postpone.”
“I don’t think so. The
morale must be low already. Postponing would be viewed by the
troops as a defeat.”
“Have you any idea of his
strength or tactics?”
“It looks like Pakenham’s
divided his infantry into three groups. A force of three or four
regiments will attack along the swamp and a slightly smaller force
will come along the river.”
“And how large is the third
that he’ll send up the middle?”
Yank shook his head.
“Pakenham’s holding the rest in reserve. I’m unsure of their
strength.”
“Did you see any ladders or
fascines?”
“No.”
“None?” Jackson asked
incredulously.
“No, sir. None at all. I was
looking for them since that would tell us who was to lead the
attack.”
“Then there must be another
force that you missed. They can’t attack without ladders or
fascines.”
“It’s more than possible
that I missed a unit, sir. But they truly are very
confused.”
~
Yank was looking toward the
east where the horizon was beginning to glow pink. “Maybe they’re
not coming after all.”
“Well if they are, they’re
late,” Jackson said. “Which would at least confirm your observation
about their state of confusion.”
Yank turned to look at the
artillery behind him. “Should we fire a shot or two to wake them
up?”
“No. I’d rather have a
concentrated barrage to answer their charge.”
A moment later rockets from
the British positions in woods and on the river shot through the
ground fog and into the clear sky.
Yank and Jackson covered
their ears with their hands and a moment later, eight American
batteries fired.
The leading British column,
commanded by Samuel Gibbs, was the first to emerge from the fog
where they were met by withering fire of roundshot and grapeshot
from three American batteries. Although Gibbs was among the first
to fall, the British veterans continued to advance in reasonably
good order.
When the attackers were
three hundred yards from the American redoubt, General Carroll,
standing on the rampart, raised his sword. “Rifles,
ready.”
The Kentucky riflemen, who
were mixed in with Carroll’s Tennessee Militia, cocked their
weapons.
“
Aim.”
Almost two hundred Kentucky
long-rifles came up.
“Fire.”
Many British soldiers in the
front ranks fell.
“Reload.”
When the British were at a
hundred-fifty yards, Carroll ordered his musketeers into action.
“First rank. Fire. Step down and reload. Second rank. Step up.” The
first rank fired, stepped down to reload and was immediately
replaced by the second rank. The second rank fired and stepped down
as the third rank climbed up and aimed their muskets.
Gibbs’s redcoats were
falling all along his front and they began to break and run but
were rallied by Gibbs, who was mortally wounded.
General Keane, who had
command of the force on the river, left Colonel Robert Rennie in
command of the main body and marched a detachment, including the
93
rd
Highlanders, all the way across the battlefield to take
command of Gibbs’s disorganized men.
General Carroll watched the
British until they were halfway to the swamp, then he called down
concentrated rifle and musket fire upon them.
Keane was wounded almost
at once and much of the infantry began to falter. Many men simply
lay down in the cane stubble in the hope of escaping the murderous
American fire. Colonel Robert Dale, the commander of the
93
rd
Highlanders, turned toward the Americans, raised his sword
and marched forward determinedly into a hail of bullets. When
Colonel Dale was killed, the men in kilts resolutely continued.
When they reached the canal, only a handful was standing. One
highlander actually managed to climb the rampart but was hit by
three musket balls and thrown back into the ditch.
The action of Carroll’s
troops was duplicated all along the mud wall by the rest of the
American forces.
British Colonel Rennie, who
had taken command from Keane when the latter marched to the aid of
Gibbs, had benefited from the fog that persisted along the river.
His charge was consequently more successful than the Highlanders’
at the other end, but he had no sooner mounted the redoubt than he
was struck down by rifle fire.
British Commanding General
Pakenham, who was wounded early in the battle, was struck again
with a musket ball while he was being evacuated to the rear. Before
he died, Pakenham gave over command to General Lambert and ordered
him to commit the reserves. Lambert, after quickly reviewing the
battlefield, declined committing the reserves and withdrew the
survivors leaving above two thousand dead and wounded on the
field.
Jackson watched the battle
that was still continuing on the other side of the river but turned
back toward Yank as he climbed onto the rampart. “How
many?”
“Seven dead and six
wounded.” Yank replied.
“From what unit?”
“From the entire force.
Unless some of the wounded die.”
“That can’t be.”
Yank offered his hand.
“Congratulations, General. I think you just won the
war.”
January 9, 1815
New Orleans,
Louisiana
Marina was wrapped in a
blanket; standing at the window and watching the parade go by on
the street below. “This is a familiar scene.”
Yank rolled onto his side
and propped himself up with a pillow. “Except the last time, you
were bare-breasted in the parade, not bare-breasted watching the
parade.”
She turned away from the
window. “I’ve never even been in a parade, let alone bare-breasted
in a parade.”
“That’s not what you told
me.”
“I haven’t always told you
the truth.” She walked back to sit on the edge of the bed. “Mrs.
Jackson is coming here to organize assistance for the sick and
wounded. She’ll need an interpreter. I think I’ll stay and help
her.”
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I
was hoping you’d come with me.”
“I’ll come later. I’d like
to see the children. But I may not stay.”
“Suit yourself. I’m not
going to beg.”
She hit him with her pillow.
“You’re such a bastard.”
“What? Why? Because I won’t
beg you to come home to stay?”
“How long have we been
married?”
“I don’t know. Ten
years?”
“Eleven. In those eleven
years, how many times have you told me you loved me?”
“Why would I have to tell
you?”
“The answer is zero.
None.”
He made a face.
“How many times have you
told me that you’re happy that you married me? Zero. How many times
have you said that you appreciate me? Zero. How many times have you
told me I’m pretty? Zero.”
“Now hold on. I’m sure I’ve
said you were pretty a number of times.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember exactly,
but – well I think it all the time, even if I don’t say it. And I
love you all the time, even if I don’t say it. But as far as
appreciating you, well, that’s a whole other story.”
“You love me?”
“Of course. Why else would I
tolerate all the pain?”
She laughed then shook her
head.
“I don’t suppose I really
have to go tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “Jackson’s going to
need help and it’s the Country’s business he’s doing after all. If
I send a message to the president I wager that he’d approve my
staying.”
“I’ll make you a
deal.”
“I don’t like the sound of
that.”
“Hear me out.”
“Okay.”
She giggled. “Jackson’s
rubbing off on you.”
“Huh?”
“You said
okay
and
huh
. Those are
Jacksonisms. His own private language.”
“So what’s this deal you’re
proposing?”
“I’ll stay with you as long
as you tell me you love me every day.”
“That’s just silly, Marina.
Eventually I’ll be called away on duty somewhere and we’ll be
separated.”
“You can write, can’t
you?”
“Not every day. Sometimes
I’m in places where there’s no mail service.”
“Okay. I’ll give in on that
point. But when you do send a letter you have to tell me you love
me.”
“You ridiculed me for
saying
okay
and
you just said
okay
.”
“Don’t try to change the
subject.”
“Okay. But when I write I
always say that I love you.”
“No you don’t. You sign as
my loving husband.”
“Same thing.”
“No it’s not. The fact that
you’re a loving husband could mean you love someone
else.”
“Well it’s not what I mean.”
He pulled the blanket away that she was wrapped in. “Not at the
moment anyway. God you’re beautiful.”
February 1815
Washington, District of
Columbia
On February
4
th
,
the
National Intelligencer
broke the news of the Battle of New Orleans to
the nation in its largest type.
ALMOST
INCREDIBLE VICTORY!
On the
13
th
,
news that the Peace Treaty at Ghent had been signed confirmed the
end of the War of 1812. The Hartford Convention was disbanded and
the land of the free and home of the brave was, for the moment,
once more at peace.
The End
This story continues
in
Home of the Brave