The Cards Don't Lie

by Sue Ingalls Finan

  The general called a halt, forming a line on the Laronde and Lacoste plantations. They were just half a mile west of the British encampment. Orders were passed from unit to unit by hand signals and from rank to rank by whispers.

  Old Hickory, looking through his telescope, made out the dark form of the schooner Carolina gradually approaching its position opposite the British encampment. Turning his telescope to his left, he could plainly see the enemy’s campsite. Many of the English were gathered around big bonfires, no doubt to dry their clothing after slogging through the swamps. Others, whom he could not see, were probably sleeping off the effects of the alcohol looted from the nearby plantation, oblivious to any threat.

  Andrew Jackson smiled to himself. How splendid for our attack!

  Tarot: THE FOUR OF WANDS

  Revelation: A reward for a creative effort,

  but more challenges ahead.

  As the American schooner USS Carolina, with seven cannons on each side, slowly and silently drifted with the current down the Mississippi, Peter could feel the thick mist forming above the river, concealing the Carolina from anyone watching from the far shore. The customary evening chill was accompanying the fog. It was close to 7:30 p.m., but not a light shone as the schooner made its way toward the Villeré plantation buildings.

  Peter strained to see the fires that would reveal the Redcoats’ camp. Gauging that the vessel had a ways to go, Peter’s thoughts returned to Millie. He wondered when he could see her again, hoped that she was safe, and anticipated what she would say about the whale’s tooth he was scrimshawing for her. He had wanted to do a mermaid in her likeness, but was still not having much luck with his awl dexterity. A simple dolphin would have to do—this time.

  He was also pondering why he was so enamored with her. Yes, she was pretty and exuberant, but so were many of the women who lived in Barataria. Also, she was bold and a risk taker. He smiled to himself; she would have made a good privateer. Most important, though, he concluded, she reveled in freedom. Like he did. And he loved her for that. Love? A strange concept—he must think more about this.

  Peter’s reverie was broken when the Carolina’s forward progress stopped. The anchor, which had been eased into the water, hooked into the river bottom and the current swung the vessel around to face New Orleans. The ship was about one hundred yards from the British encampment at the Villeré plantation.

  Peter nodded to his mates, who quietly removed the lead apron at the rear of the cannon and then took off the underlying sheepskin. Both had been placed over the touchhole to keep the gunpowder dry. A supply of cloth bags, each full of grapeshot, was nearby. All was in order.

  The tampion was removed, no longer plugging the cannon’s muzzle. Peter and the three other privateers plunged the powder charge down the barrel of their cannon. While Peter pushed the metal pick into the touchhole, piercing the canvas cover of the powder charge, his mates rammed home the cloth containers of grape-size lead shot. The elevation of the gun was adjusted perfectly with the wedge-shaped quoin, and the cannon moved into position, firmly secured by preventer tackle and shielded from the outside by the gun port.

  They were ready.

  Peter heard a voice from onshore call out to their ship. Nobody onboard breathed or answered. A couple of rifle shots from the embankment followed, but, again, no response came from the dark ship. Losing interest in the silent vessel, the few Redcoat sentries went about their duties.

  Good, Peter thought. They must think we’re an English ship, or perhaps a merchant ship.

  His muscles remained taut; it was almost time to make their identities known.

  Then a voice called out, “Give them this for the honor of America!”

  Peter was not certain if that was the voice of Commodore Daniel Patterson or not, but the gun port opened and the rest of his gun crew stepped back. Peter took the smoldering slow match from its shielding dry bucket and ignited the fuse. He quickly stepped aside to avoid the puffing blow of flame from the vent, as well as to dodge the cannon’s recoil. In an instant, the flame moved down the quill fuse and ignited the powder.

  Success!

  Then came a deafening roar as sheets of fire and masses of deadly grapeshot blasted from his cannon and the other six on the starboard side of the Carolina. Peter and the Baratarians could clearly hear the screams and groans of the shocked British as their shot ripped through Redcoat flesh.

  With well-practiced vigor, Peter and his crewmates continued their bombardment, each performing like gears in a watch. Sponging, inserting, ramming, picking, aiming, firing. Every forty seconds, their cannon roared. And their prowess was creating chaos for the Redcoats. The grapeshot swept down on the Brits, around their glowing campfires, which silhouetted the startled and confused targets.

  Some Brits did their best to extinguish the fires while trying not to reveal themselves to the deadly rain of grapeshot. Lying low behind the levees, others returned fire, but the Carolina’s high oak gunwales protected its crew from the musket shots. And the Redcoats who crawled to and hugged the embankment, prostrated but safe, helplessly heard the moans and screams of their wounded. The American onslaught continued. The British, because their heavy artillery was still in transit, could only keep their heads down.

  Never did these tired Redcoats expect the ship anchored in the river to be an armed American naval vessel. And with their amazing acquisition of the Villeré plantation, the British supposedly had the element of surprise on their side. They were unquestionably the best-trained and most experienced military in the world. Plus, battles occurred only in the daytime, certainly not at night. It just wasn’t done. And yet . . .

  Tarot: THE STAR

  Revelation: Hope and faith.

  While Corporal Madden guarded the outside of Jackson’s headquarters on Rue de Royal, Catherine and Scamp were together inside. Catherine was sitting at the table; Scamp stood next to her. To keep her young assistant’s mind occupied, Catherine reviewed some of the items she had in her medical bag and their purposes.

  “Here’s the catnip, Scamp. Do you remember what it’s used for?”

  “It can ease toothaches, and you give it to mothers for their babies when they’re colicky. Sometimes you tell them just to use dill water, though.”

  “Good! Anything else? Think back a few weeks,” she hinted.

  “Oh! You gave me some when I had a stomachache!”

  “Right! Do you remember any other herbs that are useful for treating intestinal cramps?”

  “Yes! Teas can be made from sage, thyme, or spearmint. And the spearmint can also be rubbed on your temples to get rid of a headache.”

  “Well done, Scamp! Very good indeed.”

  Her student was smiling proudly.

  “Now, what about taking care of—”

  The first booms of the Carolina’s cannons interrupted Catherine’s question.

  “Merde!” the boy yelled out, and clung to his mistress. She in turn hugged him right back.

  They held on to each other for a few moments, the cannons continuing their clamor.

  Corporal Madden opened the door and stuck his head in. “You folks all right?” he asked.

  “We’re fine, Corporal, just a little shaken is all.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  He shut the door again.

  Scamp said, “I’m scared, Madame Catherine. Aren’t you?”

  “It is a bit unnerving, Scamp. But it’ll be all right,” she said. “The general knows what he’s doing.”

  The boy didn’t seem very convinced. He looked up at her, his eyes wide, his eyebrows raised.

  “It’ll be all right.”

  Tarot: TEMPERANCE

  Revelation: Fine guidance.

  Because he was a local planter and knew the area well, Jacques had volunteered to lead General Coffee and his troops. When the schooner Carolina first opened fire, the dismounted Tennessee horse soldiers were headed across the south end of the Lacoste plantation, closest to the
cypress swamp, and about three hundred yards south of the swamp. They had crossed about a third of the field, when suddenly several figures rose from the ground.

  Fortunately, Jacques and the startled General Coffee’s staff could discern that the men were leaning on their rifles and muskets, not aiming at them. Their spokesman, Nakni, identified himself and his fellows as eight of Captain Pierre Jugeant’s Choctaw scouts. He informed Coffee that the captain and all eighteen Choctaws had infiltrated the English camp. They were there, avoiding the light of the campfires, when the Carolina opened fire. Captain Jugeant had sent Nakni and his companions to lead Coffee’s men through a gap in the English pickets. Also, Nakni had discovered that Coffee was headed directly for an English picket outpost of eighty soldiers.

  Nakni and his fellow scouts trotted ahead of the Tennessean volunteers, fanning out to locate the nearest British outposts.

  Coffee sent his aides with orders to the officers to swing the column toward the river and the flashes of the Carolina’s cannons. The Tennesseans were to obey the directions of the Choctaw scouts, who would be posted along the line of march, and, above all, to “make no noise!”

  As Nakni led the way, Jacques relinquished his guide duties but remained with General Coffee as aide and messenger, if needed.

  Tarot: THE ACE OF SWORDS

  Revelation: Change in one’s life; activity due to

  the old order being threatened.

  “All right, everybody. One more time. Shove it!” commanded Sheila.

  “Do try to be careful about scraping the floors, though!” cautioned Claudia.

  With combined effort, the Creole women slowly pushed the heavy, ornate sofa next to the grand piano, already moved against the wall.

  “Good job,” Sheila congratulated her friends. “Now that we have cleared the center of the room, we’ll be able to take in more wounded. We’re lucky you have such a large house in the city, Claudia!”

  “I’m happy to help, Sheila.”

  “Let’s get back to sewing the quilts and pillows and cutting the petticoats into bandages. When we finish those, we can begin making blanket cloaks, shirts, and pants. It’s going to be a long night, my friends.”

  The candles were lit, many of them in sconces in front of the multiple mirrors, providing a duplicate effect. As Sheila picked up some more fabric from the table, she glanced into the convex chaperone mirror and noted her friends’ grim looks. All were familiar with the reports that the British had raided the Atlantic coastal towns with impunity, assaulting old men, violating women, looting and burning. And now they were here.

  The ladies labored on. They could hear the cannons from the Carolina firing east of the city. As the bombardment continued, they looked at one another, fear and apprehension now plain upon their faces.

  Sheila interrupted her sewing for a moment and fingered the sheath of her dagger concealed inside her skirt. Some of the women stopped to see what their leader was doing. “Check your weapons, ladies!”

  The women nodded, and all reaffirmed the locations of their defenses, touching knives, scissors, and cleavers. Some items were hidden within their garments; others had been placed conveniently nearby.

  Sheila then shook her fist, saying, “And we will not hesitate to use them against those British barbarians!”

  Along with the rest, Sheila heard another burst of cannon fire. Her face set with steely determination, she made the sign of the cross, took up her needle again, and ferociously stabbed the cloth.

  Tarot: THE KNIGHT OF SWORDS

  Revelation: Sudden changes; turbulence.

  The balance of the American army was aligned just west of the Lacoste plantation boundary, starting at the river and extending inland for a distance of roughly four hundred yards. Closest to the river on the high road, Jackson placed the two six-pounder cannons and their crews, with a contingent of Marines in support. Next, posted from right to left, were the 7th and 44th US infantry regiments and Major Plauché’s battalion of Creole volunteers, which included Private René Bonet. Holding the left flank, Miguel Plicque was with Major Dacquin’s battalion of free men of color.

  The continuing bombardment from the Carolina and the resulting confusion in the camp kept the British unaware of the American battle lines forming on two sides of their position.

  At 8:00 p.m., General Jackson gave the order for the professional soldiers of the 44th and the 7th regiments to advance toward the Redcoats’ camp. The two cannons were rolled forward on the high road, accompanied by the Marines. The men of the 7th were the first to reach the edge of Lacoste’s plantation, where they stumbled into an English outpost. Although suffering casualties, the Yankees were able to push the Redcoats back toward their camp.

  Now alerted to the American army’s presence, English General Thornton rushed every soldier he could toward the sound of the musket fire. Illuminated only by the moon, and obscured by the fog drifting from the river, the fight became a matter of firing at the flashes of the enemy’s muskets and then dodging before the enemy fired at the flashes of the Americans’ muskets.

  As the English reinforcements arrived at the sight of the engagement, they spread to the left of the 44th regiment. The volunteer units on the far left of the American line, for unknown reasons, had not gotten the word to advance with the regular army regiment.

  René, on the far left of Plauché’s Creole unit, was waiting in formation with a churning stomach. Despite the cooling night, sweat soaked his hands while he listened to the gunfire and the battle cries. He silently repeated the musket loading-and-firing procedure to himself; yet again, he found it somewhat calming. The next man to his left was a member of Major Daquin’s battalion; he was quietly saying the Lord’s Prayer over and over. René recognized the voice; it was Miguel, his father-in-law.

  Suddenly came the command to move forward with caution and not to fire until given the order. In the darkness, it would be difficult to distinguish friend from foe. René gripped his musket, and Miguel stopped praying out loud as the battalions moved forward silently over the fields of the Lacoste plantation.

  René’s head ached from the strain of peering into the darkness ahead. He could feel the bile rising in his throat and feared that he might not be able to contain it. Just as he was about to bend over, he heard someone shout the password, “Doodle,” followed by a silence that seemed to last an eternity. Instead of the counterword, “Yankee,” the next sound was a burst of musket fire and the thump of musket balls striking human bodies.

  Automatically, René knelt on one knee and raised his musket to his shoulder, the ache in his head and the churning in his stomach suddenly gone. At the command “Au feu,” he pulled the trigger and immediately commenced the reloading routine that he had silently been repeating in his head.

  A few yards to René’s left, Miguel and the rest of Daquin’s battalion also fired. Then came the order to fire at will.

  The Redcoats, who had apparently believed that they outflanked the Americans, now found that their own flank had been turned. They began to withdraw. Amid their confusion and the darkness, the Redcoats’ musket balls flew ineffectively over the heads of the Americans. However, the Americans’ aimed fire devastated the English ranks, forcing them to retreat.

  The word was passed from Plauché’s men to Daquin’s battalion to “fix bayonets and advance cautiously.” René’s exuberance at having survived his first firefight suddenly evaporated as he fumbled to remove his bayonet from its scabbard and fasten it to the barrel of his musket. He had done so easily while standing still in daylight at the Place d’Armes, but now it was dark and he was walking across a field while hoping not to encounter a Redcoat experienced in fighting with a bayonet. As he stopped to complete the task, he could hear what he believed to be such encounters just in front of him. The hair on his neck stood up, and his heart stopped beating when someone bumped into his back. René was about to spin around, bayonet ready, when he heard the curse in French. Grasping the stock of his musket jus
t behind the trigger guard with his right hand, his left hand on the breech end of the barrel, he started forward.

  Miguel, who did not have a bayonet, reloaded his musket. Although he had sheathed his six-inch hunting knife, concealed in its usual place under his trousers, on his right calf, it would be of little use against a Redcoat with a musket and a bayonet. In that case, he was ready to use his musket as a club in close-quarters fighting.

  Carefully, slowly, he and René began to move. After they had advanced about twenty yards, they were relieved to receive a command to halt and assume firing positions. While a few of their comrades remained standing, others knelt. But the majority lay down on their stomachs. Whatever their posture, all eyes tried nervously to penetrate the dark and fog before them. But they had readied themselves.

  “As we forgive those who trespass against us . . .”

  Well, no, not really.

  Periodically, disoriented English soldiers stumbled into their lines, where they quickly either surrendered or died.

  “And deliver us from evil . . .”

  S’il vous plaît.