“Confidence, men! We’ll not panic, and we will teach them again that we are better soldiers than they.” Jackson spat to emphasize his remarks.
Because the enemy positions were predetermined, each of Jackson’s batteries had its cannons aimed at a specific English target and its powder charges measured. As a result, the first rounds fired from the American artillery did severe damage to the English batteries. When the firing from the enemy cannons slackened, Miguel joined in as the Americans cheered and the general waved his hat to them in return.
Millie crouched down behind the fortification, holding her hands over her ears. She had never been this close to a battle and watched with admiration as the Baratarians loaded, aimed, and fired their cannons in what resembled an intricate dance. Even when a defensive cotton bale was knocked out of place and caught on fire, Peter and his crew did not lose their focus. Others immediately jumped over the rampart and knocked the smoldering bale into the canal, where it smoked itself out. Meanwhile, the Baratarians continued loading, firing, and reloading, discharging twice every minute.
By two o’clock, the English cannon fire had slackened, and then it stopped altogether. It was a welcome respite for the American cannoneers.
Looking toward the guns on his left, Peter saw Dominique Yu’s arm bound up.
“Dominique!” he called. “Are you all right?”
“Only a scratch,” the pirate rejoined. “But I can see through my spyglass that the battery we targeted is a complete wreck. The barrels of sugar the English used to protect their cannons have been blown to bits, leaving the artillerymen exposed. They cannot work the cannons if they are hiding on the ground. But you’d better get over to that girlfriend of yours; she’s still got her eyes closed and her ears covered!”
Peter left his post and went over to tap Millie’s shoulder. As he helped her up, he said, “Are you all right, Millie? That must have been a terrifying experience. I was afraid maybe you would faint.”
Millie joggled her head, as if to shake out any cannon noises still echoing inside her.
“I’m fine, Pete. It was pretty scary, but then I noticed that most of the shells flew way over our heads. They just made a lot of noise.”
Peter nodded. “The Macarty plantation house seemed to be the main English target; the place is in shambles.” He looked at her anxiously. “You’re sure you’re all right, then?”
“I am, Pete,” Millie assured him. “And besides,” she added, gazing up at him with a coquettish look, “I felt safe here with you.”
“Millie, I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you!” He felt himself redden but then paused and cocked his ear. “Do you hear that?”
“Oh! It’s the fiddlers!” she said. “And French horns, too. They’re playing music!”
“Yes! The bands are playing again. I’ll bet the Brits can hear them also,” said Peter, smiling. “We got them good; we held our own.”
Millie threw her arms around her pirate and said, “I’m so proud of you, Pete. You’re a hero!” And the intensity of her kiss proved that she meant it.
She pulled away reluctantly and looked around at the upheaval. People were milling about all over the “parade grounds.” The few wounded were being moved to the field hospital, officers were rallying their units, women were looking for their men, and some children were still crying.
“Well, I’ve got to get to work,” said Millie.
“What do you mean?” Peter asked. “What about our picnic?”
“Gosh, I’m sorry, Pete. I suspect the food is long gone, along with the hamper. But I hope Bella is all right; I hitched her up by the field hospital. Now, I must get back there; I may be needed. Would you like to help me?”
“Yes, but I can’t; I’m required to stay by my post. The English may be planning an infantry attack. I hear musket fire even now, coming from the end of the rampart by the swamp.”
He bent down to enfold her with another powerful kiss, and the passion of his touch was just as intense as a gigantic muzzle blast.
Tarot: WHEEL OF FORTUNE
Revelation: An unexpected turn of luck;
a change of assets.
Millie walked quickly back to the field hospital and ducked inside to see whether she was needed to transport any wounded. A doctor was examining a soldier, shaking his head sadly. He addressed another man, standing nearby. “I’m sorry, Mr. Shepherd, but your friend Private Judah Touro is very badly injured. You yourself can see that a large mass of flesh has been torn off his thigh. I suspect a twelve-pound shot hit him.”
“I won’t give up on him, Doctor. I’m going to get him back to the city, where he can be cared for.”
“Good luck. I don’t think he’ll make it, though.”
“Oh my goodness; is that Mr. Touro?” exclaimed Millie, looking down at the prostrate figure. “Why, I’ve bought soaps and candles from his general store. I am so sorry to see him hurt.”
Turning now to Rezin Shepherd, she said, “I can take Mr. Touro to the Ursuline convent; my wagon’s just outside.”
“Thank you, miss. However, I will take him to my house in the city. We live in the same neighborhood, and I am certain that the local women there will care for Judah. I, too, have a cart, along with this brandy to give him on the way.” He thought a minute, then added, “Ironic, isn’t it? Judah was not strong enough to fight in the army, so he volunteered to carry ammunition to one of the batteries. And now this . . .”
He bent down to pick up his wounded neighbor. “I won’t let you go, my friend,” he said to the semiconscious man. “I won’t let you go.”
Tarot: THE NINE OF CUPS
Revelation: Victory; a satisfied validation
of commitment.
General Jackson met with his officers to tally their losses and deliberate their next moves.
“The cotton bales are worthless as breastworks, sir,” declared Captain Humphrey. “They were knocked over, and some even caught on fire. I suspect they might make good platforms for the cannons. There, the ground is muddy, and the cannons dig into the ground when discharged. We can move the cannons to the side, excavate the soil, lay down the cotton bales, use the soil to fill the gaps in the rampart, and replace the cannons.”
Jackson replied, “Let’s try it on Battery 1 first, to make sure it works. If the English attack while we’re making the change, the Louisiana can cover that section of the line.”
“Well, if that doesn’t succeed, perhaps the soldiers can use the cotton bales for bedding or to stuff under their uniforms,” Colonel Butler said.
“One way or the other, the cotton bales will be practical. I suspect the British were surprised to discover that their sugar barrels are useless,” said Reid.
“Right,” agreed Humphrey. “Our cannons blew them apart. The hot sugar must have coated their guns, crews, and ammunition with a sticky mess.”
“Do we have a casualty report?” asked Jackson.
Butler replied, “Eleven killed and twenty-three wounded. Some of those were civilians who were here to visit relatives. Unfortunate turn for their holiday.”
“Anything else?”
“We’re getting more deserters. They’re telling us that the British are low on food. They’re eating horseflesh, oranges from the groves, and even that burnt sugar blown out of the hogsheads!” reported Colonel Butler.
“It is said that their hospital is overflowing with sick and wounded. They are short on ammunition, but they’re expecting reinforcements. Morale is down—not surprising, since they’ve been turned back three times; they probably thought they’d take the city without much of a fight. Not a bad record for our patch-quilt army,” commented General Morgan.
“Have we heard from General Adair and his Kentuckians?”
“Nothing, sir. But they can’t be far.”
“We haven’t heard anything from the Capitol, either. I wrote to Secretary of War Monroe that we have bloodied the English nose but they haven’t given up. I also asked fo
r more supplies, but none yet.”
Jackson’s staff shook their heads in exasperation.
“Colonel Kemper, I’d like you to make a reconnaissance through the woods and swamp to the east and south. Find the place where the English are landing their supplies and these reinforcements they’re expecting. I must know immediately if they, in frustration, try to slip around us by another route to the city. Take a couple dozen men who can live in the woods, and enough pemmican to feed them for two weeks. You’ll have to keep the landing site under observation without revealing your own presence.”
“I understand and will send a man back every few days to report, sir!” said Reuben Kemper.
“General Coffee, I want a reconnaissance in force down the Gentilly Road toward the Chef Menteur Pass into Lake Pontchartrain. About two hundred of your horse soldiers should be enough to put up a delaying fight if they run into the English. I’ll ask General Humbert to go along as assistant commander. He’s familiar with the area.”
The men all nodded in agreement.
“But tonight, gentlemen, I want to make sure the troops know that I’m proud of them. They are each to have a quarter pint of whiskey to celebrate today’s victory.”
Jackson paused and looked at each of his aides with resolve. “Happy New Year to you all, and God bless the United States of America!”
Tarot: THE ACE OF SWORDS
Revelation: Change and struggle; out of conflict,
a new viewpoint will be revealed.
January 2, 1815
On the second day of the new year, Catherine set off for the convent. Walking briskly through her quiet neighborhood, she pondered the recent events and changes that had occurred—not only outwardly throughout the city, but deep within her as well.
Earlier that morning, an exhilarated Sheila had arrived in a carriage to take Marguerite and the baby to Claudia’s house. Every day after the birth, the Creole mother had called upon her daughter and the baby in the quadroon neighborhood. The visits were brief but gracious. Besides bringing gifts from friends, Sheila always presented Catherine with a box of biscuits or candy.
Nevertheless, Catherine had been especially surprised that morning when, upon leaving, Sheila had reached out to embrace her and thank her for helping their family. Hortense had been even more flabbergasted when she, too, received a hug.
Catherine smiled as she thought about Sheila. She understood the mores and prejudices that the white mother’s Creole class had inculcated in her. New Orleans’ rigid social conventions limited professional expectations and dictated lifestyle behaviors; one’s prestige and privileges were instilled at birth. Creole culture depended upon these unwritten laws and traditions. Those same community conventions had been implanted in Catherine by her own mother, and faithfully observed by her relatives, friends, and neighbors, while the Church asked no questions.
Catherine had never before examined these notions and practices, and when the Yankees had moved in, she had simply regarded their different customs as very odd, sometimes silly, or simply uncouth.
But circumstances of these past few weeks were now making her confront and reshape her perspectives on New Orleans laws and traditions, as well as her culture’s positions on loyalty and love.
She was uneasy with these thoughts, this questioning of the familiar and, she admitted, the comfortable. But now, for the first time in her life, she felt vulnerable.
It wasn’t only because the British were invading her homeland. The fact that hitherto considered bizarre behaviors and serendipitous occurrences, such as her friendship with Marguerite, Suzanne’s marriage to René, or the esteem and appreciation now given to Millie—regardless of her background—were no longer controlled by traditions left her mind conflicted. Catherine felt as if these changes should dismay her. Yet . . .
This was unmapped territory. Her mind worried itself back and forth as she continued her contemplation of the present insecurities she was facing.
When had these abnormalities begun? With Suzanne’s wedding announcement? However, René and Suzanne were so much in love; why shouldn’t they have been married? The day General Jackson had arrived in New Orleans? Because of his dysentery, he needed me, and I needed . . . What do I need? Partnering with Marguerite in organizing the Ursuline “hospital”? But we enjoy each other’s company, so why shouldn’t we be friends? Or the most painful aberrance: relinquishing the baby? For whose benefit? Le bébé’s? Oui, I kept my promise to René, but I betrayed my daughter. Can I ever—will I ever—forgive myself?
The future? She no longer had any confidence in knowing the direction it would take.
And still another thought nagged at her: Had she really chosen the direction of her life? Wasn’t it prescribed by society? Who made these rules, why, and to what end?
And now? Doubts and confusion.
She looked forward to tending to the wounded; the busy work would suppress her brooding. She hurried into the Ursuline convent, carrying her medical bag.
She had not been to the hospital since the babies were born. Her spirits lifted somewhat, as she noted the quiet yet competent atmosphere within.
As she rounded a corner, she bumped into Sister Angelique.
“Hello, Catherine! How are you? And how is Suzanne?”
“Bonjour, Sister. I’m fine but tired. Suzanne is . . . I don’t know. She has practically locked herself away inside her home and won’t see me. Whatever I know about her is by way of Millie.”
“Well, she’s been through quite a lot for a young girl. So many emotions—grief, melancholia, and anger, not to mention exhaustion—are squeezing her. She’s mourning the loss of her husband, her son, and her plans for the future. Give her time, Catherine.”
“I hope you’re correct, Sister. All of this suffering, the pain, the deaths we have witnessed . . . and yet to me her estrangement is even worse than death. It’s been dreadful, so unexpected, and it caught me so unprepared. I have never before felt such anguish.” Catherine’s shoulders sagged as she admitted her despondency to this woman.
The nun studied her through narrowed eyes. “You seem to be going through quite an emotional battle of your own, Catherine.”
Catherine looked up in surprise. How could the Ursuline sister know about the churning thoughts within her?
“Please take care; you won’t be any good to anybody if you become ill yourself,” the nun continued.
Catherine braced herself. “You’re right, Sister Angelique. This has been a strain on us all, emotionally and mentally. But we must remain strong.”
Changing the subject, she asked, “By the way, has Scamp been assisting you?”
“That boy has been such an asset, Catherine. He rides with Millie back and forth to Camp Jackson and checks up on the general, then returns here to help clean up. I do believe the lad has matured a great deal these past couple of weeks!”
“I agree. And he’s been quite conscientious in updating me on General Jackson’s, um, condition.”
Sister Angelique laughed. “Actually, he’s absolutely delighted to inform everyone about our good general’s intestinal affairs. And Millie reports that he also nags the general about drinking his teas and eating properly.”
Catherine chuckled. “Well, I’m glad everything is working out. And the nursing staff is still functioning?”
“Yes, Suzanne’s organizational skills are commendable and we have plenty of supplies and medicines. We were lucky not to have too many injuries in the New Year’s Day battle.”
She paused. “There is one case, however, that I’m hoping you might be able to help with.”
“Of course.”
“A colored man is dying; he was severely wounded at the parade grounds. His master has been with him since he was brought in yesterday, and insisted that he be put in a room. The Creole refuses to eat or sleep and just keeps mumbling and crying. He was already rather muddy when he came in and now is completely disheveled, but he won’t let anyone come close to him. We have h
ad to move the other patients out of the room. I fear for this man’s sanity. If he continues in this manner, we may have two deaths on our hands.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you. He’s in that chamber across from us.”
Catherine entered the room and saw the profile of the Creole kneeling by the lone bed. He was holding the dying man’s palm in one hand while tenderly stroking his forehead with his other.
“I am with you,” Catherine heard him say quietly to the dying man, but his words were punctuated with a heaving sob.
“Monsieur?” she said in a hushed voice.
The man turned toward her and gazed at her questioningly, with tears in his eyes. Tears in his very green eyes.
Taken aback, Catherine said, “Jacques?”
He did not seem to recognize her. She rushed over to his side and knelt down beside him. “Jacques! C’est moi, Catherine!”
“Catherine,” he said, now sobbing openly. “He’s leaving me. Tobias is leaving me. I don’t know how I can go on without him!”
Catherine put her arm around the quivering man.
“I am here to help you, Jacques. Please let me do that for you and Tobias.”
Jacques nodded.
Leaning over the patient, Catherine pulled back the coverlet and quickly appraised his condition. From his labored breathing, she knew that he was not going to live much longer. Actually, given what acute injuries he had sustained, she was surprised he was still alive. He just wasn’t ready to die and was tenaciously determined to stay a little longer. She suspected she knew why.
She gently covered the patient’s torso again and turned to the grieving Creole. “Jacques, I know this is hard for you, but you need to let him go.”
Jacques stared at her through his tears and then broke down again, his shoulders heaving. “But I can’t, Catherine. I can’t let him go. Don’t you see? I’m in agony!”
“And so is he, Jacques. He is distressed because he is worried about how you’ll get by after he’s gone. You’re prolonging his pain.”
The Cards Don't Lie Page 23
