General Jackson watched their advance from the second floor of the Macarty plantation house. The English army made an impressive and intimidating sight. They covered the fields like red ants swarming from a kicked anthill.
Then Jackson turned his attention to the rampart where his men were hurrying to their assigned positions. He watched a group of Baratarians turn off River Road and run to Battery 3 to man the two twenty-four-pounder naval cannons Jean Lafitte had supplied. The general smiled to himself; Dominique Yu, Lafitte’s half brother, knew what to do.
Dominique quickly gauged the distance to the advancing English and ordered the cannons loaded with chain shot. Although normally used to destroy the sails and rigging of ships, the two balls, attached by a chain, would also shred the ranks of Redcoats.
The British were now about six hundred yards away from the rampart.
Aiming slightly high so that the chain shot would not just bury itself in the muddy ground, Dominique ordered the cannons to fire. The other American batteries, including the cannon of the Louisiana anchored along the opposite bank of the Mississippi, followed suit, and large gaps appeared in the red-coated ranks.
The experienced Baratarians immediately swabbed the insides of the cannon muzzles to extinguish any sparks, before reloading again with bags of gunpowder and the chain shot.
More gaps.
Yet the English continued to push forward, and Peter, who was positioned close to Dominique Yu, could see the effects of the Americans’ salvos with red mist and parts of human torsos rising above the oncoming ranks.
As the English advanced to within musket range, the American infantry moved up to the rampart and began firing. At that point, Dominique switched the cannons’ projectiles from chain to grapeshot.
Although the smoke rising from the muskets and cannons made visibility difficult, Peter noticed the English lines becoming even more fragmented; some Redcoats were trying to take cover in the contours of the fields and behind the mounting bodies of their dead and wounded.
Meanwhile, Andre was squatting down behind the infantry, clutching his shovel in his right hand and his gris-gris in his left. Along with the other wide-eyed and inexperienced recruits in his group, he was terrified. Andre could hear the English drums and bugles, he could see their colorful uniforms, and he could smell the pungent smoke from their rockets. He also heard Tobias trying to soothe the frightened group. “Compose yourselves, men. They’ll stop when they realize our cannons will get them.”
But the English did not stop.
Andre and all the new recruits, along with the seasoned American soldiers, as well as Peter and the Baratarians, were astonished by their discipline.
The American artillery continued firing at intervals to keep the British pinned down.
Finally, as more and more of their comrades fell, the British troops broke ranks and took cover in the wet ditches of the sugarcane fields. The survivors waited until nightfall, seven hours later, to begin their humiliating retreat to their camp.
By that time, Andre no longer was frightened and Peter’s bitterness had abated. After the hours of crossfire between ship and rampart, the explosions of the rockets and cannons, the blazing of the guns, and the shrieks of the wounded, the two men were drained of any feelings at all.
Tarot: THE SUN
Revelation: Achievement; intent to move forward
and plan for the future.
December 30, 1814
Residence of the American Peace Commissioners,
Ghent, Belgium
“Thank God Britain’s Parliament has finally ratified the peace treaty,” said John Quincy Adams. “It’s been a long five months. We can return home now and submit it to Congress for approval.”
“I’m writing to President Madison to advise him that the English government has approved the December twenty-fourth draft of the treaty,” said American Peace Commissioner Albert Gallatin. “And just in case this letter reaches him first, I’m including the key provisions. It will end the war and remove English garrisons from US territory.”
Henry Clay added, “And the English have agreed to reimburse owners for property, including slaves confiscated from southern ports.”
“I doubt you’ll ever see a halfpenny,” responded Adams.
“You could say that our agreeing to restore the Indian lands to the boundaries of 1811 is just as insincere,” commented Clay. “The Indians are not subjects of the English king; we will deal with them directly.”
“There has been give-and-take on both sides,” said Gallatin. “We have guaranteed England’s complete sovereignty over all of Canada east of the Rocky Mountains, and they have pledged to stop interfering with American shipping and impressing our sailors.”
Clay responded, “Perhaps. But I think the reason Britain gave in is that Napoleon has returned from exile on the island of Elba. The English are worried about a resurgent French empire.”
“Well, Henry, you can’t blame them for wanting their troops back,” said Adams.
“It’s over; we proved ourselves as a nation to be reckoned with. And our men can go home,” said Gallatin. “The sooner, the better!”
Tarot: THE TWO OF PENTACLES
Revelation: Spirit of harmony in the midst of change.
December 31, 1814
Andrew Jackson was again using his telescope, peering out of the Macarty mansion’s second-floor window.
“I can’t see anything in all this fog,” he complained to his aides. “What in tarnation are those British doing? Digging and hammering all day and night . . .”
“General, our scouts report that they are building redoubts. Ah! It’s stopped now, sir,” said a breathless Major Reid, who had just rushed into the headquarters and raced up the stairs. “They are located across the field, about six hundred yards to our front.”
“We must pinpoint the location of each so that our cannons can be sighted and ready to open fire as soon as their targets are visible,” said Jean Lafitte.
“I’ll order Captain Jugeant to make up scouting parties of a couple Choctaws and a Baratarian cannoneer each; they should be able to gauge the distance and locations.”
“Good idea, Major Reid; please proceed immediately. We don’t want any surprises.”
Tarot: THE TEN OF CUPS
Revelation: True friendship.
It was the first morning of the year 1815, and, although the gloomy fog still cloaked the field, the American camp was in a jubilant mood. Recognizing the local custom of New Year’s Day visiting and feasting, but not in a position to allow the local volunteers to return to their homes, General Jackson had invited the entire civilian population of New Orleans to bring their feasts and attend a review of the American army. The troops had spent New Year’s Eve repairing and washing their clothes, cleaning muskets, and polishing boots. By midmorning, Camp Jackson had taken on the appearance of a county fair. Older men, women, and children gathered along the top of the river levee for the best view.
With the exception of those who had to remain on duty at the rampart, almost four thousand troops were filing into place, assembling to march in the dress parade. Even the slaves, although lacking uniforms or weapons, stood proudly in formation, some holding their shovels, spades, and pickaxes. Musicians entertained and flags fluttered as cheerful officers trotted up and down the ranks. They were all waiting for the general to appear; he was still getting ready at the Macarty mansion.
Jacques brushed some of the dried swamp mud off his uniform jacket as he hastened to join his regiment. He glimpsed Tobias, who was already at the head of his formation.
“Tobias!”
The tall, handsome slave grinned broadly at his master. “Bonne année!” The men exchanged buoyant salutes.
Still grinning, Jacques found the ebullient Tennesseans in the open cane fields, nodding and calling out, “Happy New Year!” to one another. Some of the men waved gaily to the women and children who had arrived in carriages from the city. Jacques searched the cro
wd for Marguerite and her mother, without success.
This fog is terrible, he thought. I can barely see the levee by the river. They could be here, but it’s too difficult to pick out their faces. I hope the sun breaks through this haze soon.
Several yards away from the Tennesseans, Millie pulled up in her cart and lifted out a picnic hamper. Even through the mist, she quickly spotted Peter’s companions at Battery 3, each freebooter colorfully dressed to please only himself. She could also make out the thickset half brother of Jean Lafitte, Dominique Yu, commanding the battery.
As Millie walked toward the Baratarians, she heard someone call out her name.
“Millie! Is that you?”
“Miguel! Hello! How are you?”
“Good, thank you. I almost didn’t recognize you in that dress; I’ve grown accustomed to seeing you with pants on.” Miguel glanced down at the picnic basket. “Seeing someone special here, perhaps?”
Millie blushed. “I hope so. His name is Pete; he’s one of the Baratarians.”
“Well, you sure look pretty,” said Miguel.
“Merci! Suzanne lent me this dress and cloak, since she can only wear black now. She also helped me do my hair and fix the picnic food.”
“Um, ‘since she can only wear black now’? Millie, I’m afraid to ask.” Miguel hesitated. “René?”
“Oh, my! You don’t know! Miguel, so much has happened since we last met. René is with the saints. His wound was too deep, and infection had set in.”
“God rest his soul! He was so young.” Miguel shook his head. “But I am not surprised. René was covered with blood and very weak when I found him. Suzanne must have been devastated.”
“Yes, and there’s more. Catherine sent Scamp to fetch Suzanne once we got René to the hospital, so she was with him when he passed. But then her water broke and she went into labor. Later that night, she gave birth to a boy.”
“One departs, one is born.”
“Oh, Miguel. Things just got worse. The baby died, too. I thought both deaths would destroy her. She just stayed inside her home, with all the shutters closed, and refused to speak to anyone. Baskets of food were left at her door, but they remained untouched.”
“And what about Catherine?”
“Suzanne still won’t see her. Suzanne blames her mother; she thinks Catherine did not do enough to save either her husband or her baby.”
Miguel’s eyes widened. “I’m sure that Catherine did everything in her power to save both René and the baby. She once told me that one out of every three babies dies within a few months of birth. Suzanne should know that better than anyone, considering her maman’s profession. She also knows that a battle is not a parade—most men who receive bad wounds do not survive.” He shook his head sadly. “How could Suzanne even consider blaming her maman? Catherine is the best healer in New Orleans—maybe in all Louisiana!”
Miguel thought a moment and then asked, “Well then, how did you . . .”
“I went every day and knocked on Suzanne’s door to see her. Finally, after three days, she did let me in, and I just sat and talked to her. About anything—the battlefield, the hospital, Pete—and I told her that René would not want her to be miserable. That was not the person he fell in love with. I couldn’t tell if she was listening; she just had a dazed appearance—not right.”
Miguel nodded, understanding Millie’s choice of words.
“Finally, she allowed me to feed her some soup. We had some heart-to-heart conversations, and she started getting better. She regained some of her spirit, which I always admired. Plus”—and Millie smiled—“she opened the shutters.”
“You’re a good friend, Millie. You may have saved her life.”
“I was worried about her, Miguel; her grief was so apparent. I decided to ask her to help me look nice for today’s parade, to take her mind off her suffering. It was her idea to make this shrimp rémoulade salad and pecan pie for a picnic. Giving her something else to think about seemed to soothe her.”
“But she still won’t see Catherine. I just can’t imagine . . .”
“Suzanne is heartbroken, and, as I said, at first I was really afraid she was becoming unhinged. Now, though, she’s angry. I think she feels the need to blame someone or something.”
Miguel nodded again. “I understand. Unfortunately, her maman is the target. Catherine must be wretched.”
“I’m sure she is. I hope time will help. They have both lost very special people.”
Miguel noticed someone trying to get Millie’s attention. “Say, Millie! I see one of the Baratarians over there, waving at you. He’s got a huge smile on his face! Could that be your fellow?”
Millie whirled around to see whom Miguel was pointing at. She called out, “Pete! I’ll be right there!”
Turning back to Miguel, she said happily, “Oui, that’s my pirate!”
Miguel gave her a warm hug. “Pete’s a lucky man, Millie. Enjoy your picnic and the parade. And thank you for your caring friendship to Suzanne. Catherine and I are most grateful.”
Millie looked at Miguel with certainty. “Suzanne is like a sister to me, Miguel; I would do anything for her.”
She picked up her hamper, waved at him, and ran off to meet her pirate.
All the while, the bands had been taking turns playing merry tunes. Women and children had been clapping in time to the music. Troops had been making themselves as presentable as possible, readying for the parade. And as Millie was reaching out to grab her beaming boyfriend’s hand, the mist finally lifted. The sunlight was dazzling. Peter and Millie smiled at each other. Perfect. Fireworks seemed to go off.
But no. These weren’t fireworks.
They were muzzle blasts, thirty of them, from the big British cannons. Each weighed six thousand pounds, and each had been lugged, heaved, and dragged through the swamps and marshes and cane fields by the English sailors. They were now just six hundred yards away, and manned by the same Hearts of Oak who had destroyed the French and Spanish fleets at Trafalgar.
Tarot: JUSTICE
Revelation: A balanced combination of
the right components
Peter’s instincts took over immediately. He grabbed the very startled Millie, slung her over his shoulder, and ran to the rampart. Carefully putting her down behind it, he yelled, “Hug the wall and cover your ears, Millie; those damn British are ruining our day!”
Millie had to smile. Spoken like a true American.
Miguel was in shock. Smoke and chaos were everywhere. He caught sight of Peter picking up Millie and running toward the protective barricade. Following the privateer’s lead, Miguel also dashed to his post behind the rampart, leaping over a few men trying to hide from the cannon shells roaring overhead.
At the first blast, Jacques was still looking for Marguerite. He threw himself on the ground, covering his head with his arms.
“To your stations on the rampart, men!”
The voice sounded familiar. Jacques glanced up and saw General Coffee cantering back and forth along his regiment, yelling instructions to the anxious troops. Jolted into action, Jacques jumped up and joined the Choctaws and the Tennesseans rushing off to the cypress swamps.
Andre was paralyzed with fear. He saw most of the troops rushing toward the wall. The women and children who had come to watch the parade, like horses, stampeded in different directions, some to the levee, others up the road leading to the city. Two little girls, however, did not bolt. They stood holding each other’s hands, sobbing. A woman was running toward them, a babe in her arms and another one in tow.
Andre could not move. What happened next, though, seared itself in his memory forever. He saw the black man he knew as Tobias dash by and scoop up the two little girls. Suddenly, the tall slave disappeared in a yellow-orange flash. At the same time, Andre felt engulfed by a searing wind and threw his hands up to his face for protection. A second later, he was able to open his eyes again and was stunned to see Tobias, still clutching the girls, ejected f
rom a cloud of debris.
The black man and the little girls landed in a heap at the shocked woman’s feet. Although mud-splattered and covered in blood, the children straightened up and scurried, apparently uninjured, to their mother’s side.
The man, however, did not move or make a sound. Andre staggered over to Tobias, who was lying on his stomach. The exposed muscle and gore on his back led Andre to assume he was dead. Then he heard a muffled groan.
Kneeling down at the injured man’s side, Andre said, “Tobias, I’ll get help. Stay still now.”
“T-t-t-t.”
“Shh, now. Help is on the way.”
Andre waved his arms toward a couple of fellows from his unit. “Over here,” he called. “This man needs assistance!”
A pushcart was brought over, but as the two men gently lifted Tobias onto it, they shook their heads.
Nonetheless, Andre tried to comfort the injured slave with a lie: “You’ll be all right, Tobias.”
“T-t-tell Jacques. Jacques de Trahan.”
“Do you belong to him? Monsieur Jacques de Trahan?”
Tobias tried to smile. “Oui.” And he passed out.
Once the smoke cleared at the rampart, Miguel saw Jackson inspecting the artillery batteries. The general’s uniform was coated with white plaster dust from the Macarty house. At the first sound of the cannons, he and his staff had rushed from the mansion. Although no one was injured, the building was severely damaged. As it was the largest target to sight on and likely Jackson’s headquarters, the English had made it their initial target. This proved disastrous to the English, as the scouting teams of Choctaws and Baratarians had mapped the position and distance to the English batteries.
The Cards Don't Lie Page 22
