Land of the Free

by Jeffry Hepple

  It took Yank a moment to respond. “When was this?”

  Lafitte shrugged. “A week ago I should think, maybe a bit more.”

  “I fear that I have no time to think about this now.” Yank took a breath. “Before we meet General Jackson please allow me to tell you that he is a man of very narrow values.”

  “You need have no fear, General. I am deeply committed to the cause and there is nothing that General Jackson can say that will provoke me to quarrel with him.”

  Yank laughed. “Forgive me, Captain, but this would be much easier if you would simply tell me what it is that you want.”

  Lafitte smiled. “American plain talk is it? Very well. I can talk plainly. Governor Claiborne has placed a price on my head and has bedeviled me. I want a full pardon and assurances that he will hold off his dogs in the future.”

  “A pardon for past misdeeds might be arranged but there can never be a guarantee that the State of Louisiana or American governments will turn a blind eye on your future actions.”

  “The future should be of no concern. I am a reformed man.”

  “Yes, well, that’s something you can try to convince Jackson of if you wish, but I don’t think it matters.”

  December 20, 1814

  Royal Street, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Yank hurried across the room to shake hands with General John Coffee. “I’m greatly relieved to see you so soon,” he said. “We thought you were somewhere above Baton Rouge.”

  “We were,” Coffee replied. “I only have a company with me. The rest of the brigade is followin’ fast as they can come.”

  “General Coffee came a hundred and thirty-five miles in three days,” Jackson said with a proud grin.

  “Any word from General Carroll’s Tennesseans?” Coffee asked Jackson.

  Jackson nodded. “They overtook some ammunition flatboats on the way here from Nashville. He’s got his men aboard and he’s drillin’ them on the boats so they’ll be ready to fight when they land. I expect them the day after tomorrow. We’re gettin’ a near constant stream of reinforcements from all over Louisiana, from Mississippi, and of course Tennessee.”

  “I’d heard the city was in panic,” Coffee said, “but it didn’t appear to be panicky when we rode in.”

  “We had a bad day or two until General Jackson declared martial law,” Yank said. “After that, the public began to calm down almost immediately. They just needed a firm hand on the reins.”

  “There’s somethin’ I must tell you, General Coffee,” Jackson said, “and I know you will disapprove but it was necessary.”

  Coffee said nothing.

  “I have enlisted the aid of the pirate, Jean Lafitte.”

  “That’s probably a good decision,” Coffee said mildly. “We ran into Major Plauche of the New Orleans Militia on the way in and we joined up with his column. He convinced me that the British will be comin’ through the swamps and not up the river. Those smugglers know the swamps.” He took off his hat and looked at Yank. “Do you agree? That they’ll be comin’ through the swamps?”

  “I do,” Yank replied, resolutely.

  “The question is, where in the swamps,” Jackson grumbled.

  Coffee nodded. “It’s a mess out there.”

  “Other than scoutin’ patrols,” Jackson said, “I’m keepin’ the entire force in the city in the hopes that we’ll get enough warnin’ to deploy. House-to-house fightin’ in an American city is somethin’ to be avoided at almost any cost.”

  December 23, 1814

  Royal Street, New Orleans, Louisiana

  “General Van Buskirk,” the aide said, opening Yank’s office door. “Majors Howell Tatum and A. L. Latour are here as ordered, sir.”

  “Thank you. Please send them in.” Yank stood up behind his desk and shook hands with both officers as they were shown in. “This morning, General Jackson received a report from Colonel de La Ronde that the British fleet is in a position that suggests an imminent landing.” He walked to a map on the wall. “If he’s correct, that would put them about here.”

  “That’s Bayou Bienvenue, sir,” Latour said. “It leads directly to the plantation of General Villeré.”

  “It was blocked and impassable,” Tatum added.

  “I never checked it, did either of you?” Yank asked.

  “Sir,” Latour said in a protesting tone. “To question General Villeré would be an insult.”

  “Well,” Yank said, “when you get back from checking his bayou we can discuss that, Major.” He tapped the map. “Recon in force from here to here including General Villeré’s plantation and Bayou Bienvenue. Any questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No, sir.”

  “I wish you God’s speed, gentlemen.” He walked to the window and watched until the two companies had moved out before walking next door to Jackson’s office. “Tatum and Latour just moved out.”

  Jackson was on the couch but sitting up. “Do you suppose that rascal Villeré left the bayou on his plantation open?”

  “He argued from the start that the British would sail straight up the Mississippi and that blocking the bayous was a waste of time and money.”

  “Governor Claiborne warned me against Villeré but I failed to heed him.”

  “Governor Claiborne and Jacques Villeré are political enemies. They ran against each other for governor in 1812. I’d be suspicious of anything that one said about the other.”

  “We still should have checked.”

  “Well, it’s too late to worry about that now, sir.” Yank walked to examine Jackson’s map. “In a way I hope we find the British there.”

  “Why on earth would you hope that?”

  “If they’re really there they’ll be very tired and they can’t have cannons of any weight. And, the ground near Villeré’s plantation is as good as any ground we’ll find. We could give them a bloody nose there.”

  Jackson got up. “What’s the ground like exactly?”

  “Well, that will depend on exactly where we meet but there’s a ditch called the Rodriguez Canal between the Chalmette and the McCarty plantations that could lend itself very...” He stopped mid-sentence and walked to the window to look down to see what the commotion was outside. “Bugger.”

  “Who’s out there?” Jackson asked.

  “Augustin Rousseau. His horse is run-out. Bad news, I suspect.”

  Jackson grimaced, got to his feet, walked to the office door and opened it.

  “And now here’s General Villeré,” Yank said, still at the window.

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, sir. Muddy as Hell and he looks very near panic.”

  Jackson turned from the door and sat down behind his desk. “Please stop me if I start to lose my temper, General Van Buskirk.”

  “I fear I shall be having difficulty with my own, General Jackson.”

  December 23, 1814

  Fort St. Charles, Louisiana

  Andrew Jackson on horseback was encircled by many officers while their troops stood waiting in loose formations. The units included Jackson’s own regulars, the Seventh and Forty-fourth infantry regiments supported by Spotts’s artillery brigade, a company of U.S. Marines, a corps of New Orleans volunteers, and a corps of freedmen. Behind them were Coffee’s and Carroll’s brigades, Hinds’s Mississippi dragoons bolstered by two dismounted and one mounted rifle company from Louisiana.

  “Governor Claiborne?” Jackson looked around. “I don’t see Governor Claiborne. Is he here or with his men?”

  “Here, General.” Claiborne eased his horse forward.

  “This move up the bayou here may be a feint or the enemy may be plannin’ to attack on two fronts.”

  Claiborne nodded.

  “For now I want you to leave your four regiments of militia on the Gentilly Plain.”

  “I only have three regiments, General,” Claiborne replied.

  For a moment Jackson looked confused, then he turned in his saddle. “General Carroll?”

>   “Here, sir.”

  “Can you send one of your regiments with the Governor?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “See to it, please, then join the main body.”

  “Where, sir?” Carroll asked.

  “We will proceed to the Montreuil plantation where the rest of our army will be assemblin’. From there we will move downstream along the levee road to the open area between the Chalmette and McCarty plantations. But you should catch us before then.”

  “Very well, General.” Carroll saluted and moved off to join Governor Claiborne.

  Jackson looked around again, turning his horse. “General Coffee.”

  “Sir.”

  “You will be our van.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “General Van Buskirk?”

  “Sir.”

  “I want you with me, sir. If I fall, you will have command of this army.”

  “I understand, sir,” Yank replied.

  Jackson looked around once again. “Questions?” He waited a moment. “Very well then, let’s move out.”

  As Jackson’s officers raced out to form their units for the move downriver, the garrisons at Fort St. John, Fort St. Charles and from the various camps on the right bank marched to meet him at Montreuil. The Battle of New Orleans had begun.

  4:00 PM

  December 23, 1814

  Chalmette Plantation, Louisiana

  British general Baron John Keane sent a skirmish line out from Villeré’s plantation to meet the advancing Americans. Coffee met the skirmishers with a small party, but retired quickly when one of his horses was killed and two of his men were wounded. Keane’s infantry was weary, wet and cold so rather than pursuing the Americans, he ordered his men to bivouac and cook a meal.

  Jackson placed his troops on line in clear sight of the British bivouac, then waited until dusk, when a predictable heavy fog rolled in. Now hidden from British eyes, he moved the bulk of his force toward the river, while sending Coffee’s Mounted Rifles, Beale’s New Orleans Rifles and Hinds’s Mississippi Dragoons toward the edge of the swamp where they were ordered to flank the British and push them toward the main body.

  “I want half of the Seventh Regiment, the Marines and artillery arrayed back along the levee road,” Jackson said to the remaining officers. “The balance of our forces will fill in on the level ground.” He waited a moment for questions. then continued. “In about three hours, Commodore Patterson will position the USS Carolina along the left bank of the river where she can deliver broadsides of grape against the enemy bivouac.” He pointed, needlessly, toward the Mississippi. “When the barrage has ended, Carolina will signal with a red, white and blue rocket. We will then close on the enemy and destroy him.”

  December 23, 1814

  McCarty Plantation, Louisiana

  At exactly 7:30 PM, as directed by Jackson, USS Carolina, commanded by Captain John D. Henley, and two gunboats drifted silently down the river to anchor by the bow a hundred sixty yards abreast of the British bivouac. The schooner carried fourteen guns and one hundred officers and men. The gunboats carried crews of thirty-six and thirty-nine respectively. The first gunboat was armed with one long 24-pounder and four 12-pounder carronades while the second carried a long 32-pounder and four 6-pounders. Many of the gunboats’ cannons were manned by Lafitte’s Baratarians.

  At exactly 7:30 PM, Carolina’s first broadside of grapeshot shattered the night and sent birds in the trees and British soldiers at their campfires flying. Caught completely by surprise, the British army scrambled to extinguish their campfires only to be swept away by the second salvo.

  Keane’s sergeants immediately began to chivvy the British soldiers into cohesive units to return fire with their muskets while others continued to scatter the fires.

  As the relentless American barrage continued, the British artillery and Congreve rocket detachment was brought forward. Within minutes, however, it was obvious that the musketry was useless and the artillery ineffective. By the time the orders to pull back were issued, many of the men had already sought positions behind the low levee and in a hedge-lined ditch.

  At 8:00 PM, the guns of Carolina and her subordinate vessels fell silent. Moments later, a rocket streaked into the sky and burst with red, white, and blue trails.

  As Jackson’s two 6-pounders on the levee road opened fire, the Marines began to move forward with the Seventh and Forty-fourth infantry regiments on their left. As they drew close to the ruined bivouac area, the British in the ditch rose to meet them.

  From reserve, British General Keane ordered forward the Forty-fourth Regiment of Foot to form a line near the river, but the move was immediately met by a violent thrust from Plauche’s New Orleans battalion.

  Coffee’s brigade, which was about a thousand yards to the left, had made slower progress through the heavy woods and the swamp. Now they swept down upon the British right flank, rolled it up and captured the commanding officer of the Ninety-fifth Rifles and more than fifty soldiers.

  The British near the hedge had rallied well and pushed Jackson’s Marines back into their own guns until the Seventh Infantry joined the fight and the British withdrew.

  Jackson’s Forty-fourth Infantry was quickly rolling up the British right flank until they ran directly into the melee between Plauche’s battalion and the British Forty-fourth Regiment of Foot. Confusion soon ensued as Americans fired on Americans and Jackson’s attack began to sputter.

  After his initial success, Coffee too began to encounter stiff resistance from the British Eighty-fifth and Ninety-fifth regiments which had been out of Carolina’s range. When four companies of the British Twenty-first Fusiliers arrived, seeing that his attack was already stalling, Coffee began to withdraw.

  During the quick drive forward, Coffee’s brigade had become badly spread and the British, seizing on the opportunity, re-secured their flank and captured nearly half of Beale’s riflemen. Coffee’s battle had now become a brawl between Tennessee axes and British bayonets.

  At 11:00 PM, the British line was anchored on Lacoste’s canal with the combined forces of Coffee and Jackson pushing them toward the levee when the British suddenly broke contact and withdrew back toward the Villeré mansion.

  “Should we pursue them, General?” Coffee asked.

  “No,” Jackson replied. “I’m still not entirely convinced that this is their main thrust. If this is a feint and New Orleans is attacked at dawn I cannot risk havin’ you engaged in major battle here and unavailable in New Orleans.”

  “We have General Carroll’s Tennesseans, now, General,” Coffee reminded him.

  Jackson nodded. “Please withdraw your troops to the de la Ronde plantation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jackson waited until Coffee had disappeared into the night before turning toward Yank. “Do you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you really agree or are you just sayin’ that?”

  “I really agree,” Yank chuckled. “When I disagree, sir, I guarantee that you’ll know it.”

  “What’s that firin’?” Jackson shouted at a nearby aide.

  “I’ll find out, sir.” The aide spurred his horse toward the sound of musketry.

  “That’s comin’ from Coffee’s people,” Jackson said nervously to Yank.

  “The British are badly confused, sir,” Yank said calmly. “General Keane ordered reinforcements and then a short time later he ordered the general retreat. What we’re hearing is his reinforcements running into Coffee’s line. Their skirmishers will be called back any moment.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “It happens all the time.”

  Jackson listened until the musketry sputtered to a halt. “I suppose you know that I’m woefully inexperienced.”

  Yank looked at him for several seconds. “Of all the generals I’ve ever known, you’re the best, pure and simple.”

  Jackson looked away then shook his head. “I wish I could believe that.”

 
; “Believe it. You just kicked the shit out of the best army in the world on a battlefield that they chose.”

  The aide that Jackson had sent forward rode up and saluted. “General Coffee’s compliments, sir. The general says that some skirmishers came forward but were immediately called back.”

  “Thank you, lieutenant.” Jackson sat back in his saddle. “Well, General Van Buskirk. If I’m so danged smart, what am I gonna do now?”

  “You’re going to pull back to Rodriguez Canal and begin fortifying it.”

  “Why would I want to give up two whole miles of hard fought for ground?”

  “Because our men will fold up under a British bayonet attack.”

  “They might fool you.”

  “If Napoleon’s regulars couldn’t stand, I sincerely doubt that Louisiana fishermen and farmers can.”

  “Lieutenant,” Jackson called.

  “Sir?”

  “All commanders, with the exception of General Coffee, are ordered to retreat to Rodriguez Canal where they will immediately begin to build earthworks in anticipation of a dawn attack by the enemy.”

  December 24, 1814

  Rodriguez Canal, Louisiana

  The ditch, known locally as the Rodriguez Canal, was six miles from the City of New Orleans, an average of fifteen feet wide and six feet deep. It had once been a millrace that carried water from a Mississippi River sawmill to the swamp, but it was now essentially dry.

  Yank was standing on the bank of the canal, holding his horse’s reins and listening to one of the regular army sappers complain.

  “You can’t dig in this bloody ground, sir. You can’t.”

  “Well, if you can’t go down, Sergeant, go up.” Yank pointed along the bank. “Drive fence posts all along here, then pile dirt against them.”

  “We don’t have enough men or tools, sir. We don’t.”

  “Lafitte and his men are scouring the countryside for tools and General Jackson has gone to New Orleans to recruit men. He told me before he left that anyone who refused to volunteer would be jailed.”