The Cards Don't Lie

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The Cards Don't Lie Page 26

by Sue Ingalls Finan


  The English attack along the river melted away as the common soldier spontaneously, and against orders, began to take shelter in ditches or amongst the bodies of their dead or wounded comrades. Those who could withdrew to their camps.

  General Jackson had been correct: the main English attack was directed toward the section of American line with the least artillery support. The northern portion of the rampart was defended by General Carroll’s Tennessee volunteers, but with only the three cannons of Batteries 6 and 7 in support.

  At the end of the rampart, the English signal rocket had been followed by salvos of inaccurate rocket and artillery fire. The American artillerymen held their fire as mist still obscured the fields to their front. However, the beating of drums and trumpeting of bugles could be heard clearly.

  Slowly the fog lifted and the sunlight revealed an advancing wall of scarlet. It took the American artillerymen only a few minutes to adjust their cannons for the estimated range and commence firing. The interim was filled with a cheer from the Tennessee volunteers, as they finally had a target so massive, even the poorest shot among them could not miss. The privateers who had manned the USS Carolina and regular army artillerymen repositioned the cannons of Batteries 4 and 5 to enfilade the lines of Redcoats. The cannons were loaded and fired with minimal adjustments for aim. Holes began to open in the first rank; as the survivors moved forward, the second rank stepped into the fire. With every cannon shot, men and parts of men were filling the air over the red wall.

  General Carroll’s Tennessee volunteers and those of General Adair’s Kentucky volunteers who had obtained arms were arrayed in four ranks behind the rampart. When General Carroll gauged the Redcoats to be two hundred yards away, he shouted the order to fire. The first rank of riflemen fired, stepped to their left, and moved to the rear to reload, as the second rank then stepped forward and fired. This maneuver continued for rank after rank, pouring continuous fire on the English.

  The oncoming human wall appeared to be painting the field red as it advanced. Soon the air in front of the rampart was so choked with gunpowder smoke that the Redcoats were no longer visible. The Americans began to just tip their rifle barrels over the front edge of the rampart, hoping to hit any Redcoats who had reached the ditch.

  And still the Redcoats continued their rush, leaping over their dead countrymen.

  And still the Americans continued the slaughter.

  Those Brits who did reach the ditch, however, were horrified to find that whoever had been assigned the responsibility had failed to bring the bundles of canes for bridging the canal and the ladders for scaling the barricade. A fatal blunder. Pandemonium.

  A few Redcoats waded across the canal. With their bayonets, they tried to cut steps into the rampart. The Americans shot them down.

  Some tried standing on one another’s shoulders, but they, too, were greeted with gunfire.

  Others, noting the confusion and futility, turned back to escape to the rear. They ran into a regiment dragging the missing fascines and ladders toward the rampart. These troops, seeing their bolting comrades, dropped their scaling equipment and joined them in flight.

  British commanders rode forward on their mounts, urging their demoralized troops relentlessly forward. The Kentucky marksmen quickly eliminated the officers.

  Just like their comrades who had attacked the American line along the river, even elite English soldiers could take no more. With many of their officers, including Commanding General Edward Pakenham and Second-in-Command General Gibbs dead, the common soldiers retreated to their camp. Those who had advanced closest to the American lines dropped to the ground to shelter in ditches and behind the bodies of their dead and dying comrades, rather than risk a rifle ball in the back. As the English drums and bugles fell silent, the American gunfire began to slacken.

  Finally, General Jackson gave the order to cease firing. Glancing at his watch, the general noted that only one half hour had passed since the English artillery had opened fire.

  A sound similar to that of a large herd of cows replaced the roar of cannon, rifle, and musket fire. As the smoke in front of the rampart dissipated, the Americans beheld the source of the noise: fields that appeared to be a boiling red ocean, red from the English uniforms, the illusion of surf the result of the wounded and dying rolling in agony and attempting to rise.

  As the stunned Americans stared, hundreds of English soldiers, either unharmed or slightly wounded, rose from the midst of their prone comrades, most picking their way back to the English lines, others stumbling toward the American rampart with their arms raised in the air.

  Even as these survivors moved off, the Americans knew that it would be possible to walk across the battlefield without stepping on the ground. The all-encompassing screams, cries, and pleas of the dying caused many of the Americans to move back from the rampart and cover their ears. Others proceeded beyond the rampart to provide what aid they could.

  General Jackson, who had witnessed the massacre of Creek Indians at the Battle of Horseshoe Bend, was stunned by the slaughter, the result of the English generals’ battle plan, which apparently had presumed that the Americans would run away at the first sight of the English army. But the general had no pity for the enemy. Dismounting, he walked east along the rampart, congratulating the Tennessee and Kentucky volunteers, praising their valor and marksmanship, while his staff collected casualty numbers. Jackson paid the highest praise to those who had manned the artillery. Turning west, he extended the same compliments and congratulations to each unit along the rampart while instructing the officers to send salvage parties among the English dead to collect their muskets and ammunition.

  A white flag of parley was waved, and a formal, twenty-four-hour cease-fire was called. Jordan Noble, who had kept up a continuous drumroll throughout the battle, sounded his final beats.

  Tarot: THE TEN OF PENTACLES

  Revelation: A creative idea for a sense of security.

  Andre smelled gunsmoke mixed with the stink of blood. He gathered the courage to raise his head above the rampart and look out over the battlefield. Instead of its usual yellow-gray stubble, it was furrowed with hundreds of scarlet clods. Then he rubbed his eyes in dismay. Many of those clods were moving!

  “Do you see that?” he asked Miguel. “Some of those Redcoats aren’t dead; they’re alive!”

  “Uh-huh,” agreed Miguel. “They were hiding behind the piles of their own dead.”

  “And now they’re heading to our lines with their hands up. They were just pretending to be dead!”

  “Yes, but by so doing, they avoided their own demise. They knew that if they continued coming this way toward the rampart during the battle, the American backwoodsmen would pick them off easy. Their rifle barrels have grooves inside that make the bullet spin and go straight.”

  “Maybe,” answered Andre. “But most of our troops have smooth-barrel muskets. Those weapons aren’t nearly as accurate as the rifles.”

  “That’s true, Andre,” said Miguel, as he patted his beaten-up fowling gun. “This old thing has a smooth inside barrel that doesn’t control the bullets. But the British know that once it’s shot, the ball tends to go above where the gun is pointed, so if a soldier lies down, he’s less likely to be hit.”

  “Hmph. So they knew they’d be slaughtered if they kept marching in this direction, and instead they just fell down in the heaps of their dead comrades and waited it out.”

  “Right. Now they’re coming in as prisoners. Looks like about five hundred of them. Playing possum saved their lives.”

  Tarot: THE KING OF CUPS

  Revelation: Meeting a feature of oneself.

  The men gathered in Jackson’s tent were giddy.

  “Congratulations on this great victory, sir. You will definitely be a national hero!”

  “Well, thank you, Colonel Butler. We must also give credit to our troops. But, most of all, I thank God for helping us in our time of need. Speaking of which . . .” Jackson looked around
the room, and his eyes landed on Scamp, crouching in a corner.

  “How old are you, son?” he asked.

  “I’m almost eleven, sir,” responded the boy.

  “When I was about your age, I served the country as a messenger. How would you like to be promoted and serve as my courier?”

  “Yes, sir!” Scamp scrambled up, straightened himself to his full height of four and a half feet, and, with a huge grin, saluted Jackson.

  “All right, then. There’s a young woman out there picking up the wounded and taking them in her wagon to the convent hospital. I’ve heard about her—I believe her name is Miss Millie. See if you can get a ride with her and let the townspeople know that the battle is over and we won. I’m fairly certain that many of them are in the chapel, praying for us. It’s an important assignment, Soldier.”

  “Yes, sir. Don’t worry, sir. Consider it done, sir!” And Scamp ran out of the tent, yelling, “Miss Millie! Miss Millieeeee!” at the top of his lungs.

  Jackson turned to his aides with a smile and said, “He’s young, spirited, and plucky, just like our country! Now, back to business.”

  Tarot: THE SUN

  Revelation: Liberation, achievement, gains.

  The women and children had gathered together for early Mass in the chapel of Our Lady of Prompt Succor. Once again, the hands of each participant were clasped together in prayer, hoping for a miracle. The minutes passed slowly. Chalmette plantation was on everyone’s mind. The cannons had been heard booming earlier. And then nothing.

  As the priest prayed the Agnus Dei, the congregation repeated the solemn request. “Lamb of God, you who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.” Seldom had this prayer meant so much. Heads were bowed, breasts were lightly thumped, tears were still spilling.

  The participants lined up to receive Holy Communion. As each woman knelt at the railing to receive the host from the priest, she again begged God to help save those dear to her.

  After the last communicant had returned to her pew, the chapel was quiet, each person meditating.

  Suddenly, the door flung open, slamming against the wall, and Scamp burst into the chapel.

  “Victory is ours! We won the battle!” he cried out. “We beat ’em!” He raised his arms up to the ceiling. “We did it! Hooray for General Jackson and our army!”

  Everyone turned to the boy in surprise.

  “Scamp?” asked Catherine.

  “Oui, Madame Catherine!” said Scamp, with a huge smile. “It’s true! General Jackson promoted me to be his courier and sent me to tell you all that the city is safe and the battle is over! Wahoooo!” He took off his cap and waved it in circles above his head.

  “Glory be to God,” added the priest.

  “Amen!” agreed the congregation.

  “Thank you, Our Lady of Prompt Succor,” whispered Sister Angelique.

  The cathedral’s bells began pealing, the churchgoers hugged, and all of New Orleans exhaled a sigh of relief.

  Tarot: THE EMPEROR

  Revelation: Control and leadership in creating

  a governing structure.

  Jackson had praised the troops on their brilliant victory, had notified the New Orleans citizens that they were safe, and had sent a message to Secretary of War Monroe that although the battle was won, the enemy was still on American territory. He now needed to address the near future.

  “Many of our men are on the battlefield, gathering British weapons, in case the English renew their assault,” said General Adair.

  “Good,” said Jackson. “They’re probably collecting souvenirs, too. While we have this truce, however, I want them to take the dead Redcoats to the Bienvenue plantation for burial. That way, the British won’t get too close to our line. I don’t trust them.”

  “Perhaps we should pursue the Redcoats ourselves and attack them further, sir,” Major Hinds urged.

  “No. I don’t want our men to leave the protection of the rampart. We have trounced the British, and New Orleans is now safe. Most of their officers are dead or wounded. The rest will soon lead the way to their ships and will not sully our soil any further.”

  Jackson noticed that Hinds looked doubtful.

  “However, Major Hinds, I want you to organize a scouting party. Watch the Redcoats very closely to make certain that they are evacuating. And, just to make sure, after the truce is ended, we will continue shelling them during the day and harass them at their picket lines at night.”

  Major Hinds smiled.

  Tarot: THE EMPRESS

  Revelation: Cycles of change; endings must occur.

  Miguel and Andre loaded yet another bloody body onto a British scaling ladder.

  “These corpses sure are awkward and difficult to stack,” said Miguel.

  “Not to mention all the stink and the blood,” agreed Andre. “But that fellow over there with the basket has an even worse job. He’s picking up all the severed arms and legs scattered about.”

  “Here’s a body with two arms and two legs, but the fella lost his head. Guess the shot made it explode.”

  “Yup. Just bone, brain, and blood left on that one. I don’t know what’s worse: the sight of these mangled bodies or the stench of their rotting corpses.”

  The two men transported their load to an enormous mass grave and laid the bodies on the ground nearby. One Redcoat, upon seeing a corpse they’d brought, began weeping.

  “I guess he recognizes one of the men,” said Miguel.

  “He’s not the only one of this British burial party crying,” observed Andre. “It must be difficult to see a dead friend and have to pitch his body, almost like trash, into a hole.”

  “Well, not everybody is being tossed into this giant plot. Did you hear what the Brits are doing with two of their dead generals?” asked Miguel.

  “Do they get a special grave around here?”

  “No, their bodies are actually being gutted and then sent back to England, preserved inside casks of rum.”

  “What a waste of good alcohol!” snorted Andre.

  Tarot: THE STAR

  Revelation: A need for hope and courage;

  no collapse is final.

  The occupants of New Orleans were finally informed about the signing of the Treaty of Ghent, which had ended the war two weeks before the Battle of New Orleans. Two weeks after the battle, the British were completely gone from Louisiana, as well as the entire country.

  A victory parade, led by the New Orleans battalions, was held in Place d’Armes, and the hero Jackson was crowned with a laurel wreath. The general congratulated the male citizenry for their roles in protecting their homes, praised his countrymen who had come to defend the city, recognized the Belles of New Orleans’ impressive efforts, and thanked the good nuns for their nursing. And, to give credit where credit was due, he promised to honor Our Lady of Prompt Succor every year with a Mass of thanksgiving.

  Other festivities within the city, big and small, were joyous and full of music and dancing. The largest celebratory ball, given in Old Hickory’s honor, was held the evening of January 23. Everyone was invited, and, although Suzanne was in mourning, she did convey to Catherine that she was considering attending the festivities with Millie and Pete, if only just to watch.

  The mother and daughter were now on speaking terms. Very civil. Very polite. Very crushing to Catherine.

  Miguel kept saying, “She needs time; don’t rush things!”

  Upon arriving at the ball, Catherine began scanning the crowd, hoping to find her daughter. Perhaps this dance would be a breakthrough for them.

  “Do you see her, Miguel?” she asked her husband.

  “Not yet, but look, Catherine. The general has arrived, along with his wife!”

  Amid applause, Andrew Jackson proudly escorted his spouse into the ballroom.

  “I always wondered what Rachel Jackson was like. She’s just his opposite!”

  “True,” answered Miguel. “She’s short and obviously not thin, and the way sh
e’s chattering away and waving to people seems quite vivacious in nature. She fits in well with us Creoles!”

  A fiddler began a lively tune, and, as the crowd formed a large circle around them, the Jacksons began to dance.

  “Just look at them hopping up and down, Miguel!” exclaimed Catherine. “I’ve heard some of the Kentuckians singing the lyrics to this song; it’s called ‘Possum up de Gum Tree.’”

  “Madame Caresse?”

  It was a familiar voice. Catherine turned around and was delighted to see Andrew Jackson’s doctor.

  “Doctor Morell!” she exclaimed. “Miguel, this is the general’s physician. A month ago, he was captured by the British. I am so glad to see you again, and you’re looking well.”

  “Thank you. The British released all of their prisoners, including the navy purser and me, on January twelfth. Considering the circumstances, I am quite healthy. Even better, I am happy to know that you have cleared up General Jackson’s dysentery. He is dancing tonight, thanks to you!”

 

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