Even as General Jackson fretted, he received some spiritual assurance. From their convent overlooking Ursuline and Chartres Streets, four nuns wrote him a letter. They wanted to do their bit, volunteering to take in wounded men. Since word of the British arrival in the region had reached them, they had already taken the precaution of sending the boarding students and orphans in their care out of New Orleans and had plenty of space.4 But most of all, they offered their prayer for Jackson and his men and for the safety of the city they had come to love.
The people of New Orleans needed prayers desperately—and not just prayers for ammunition and troops to stand up to the fighting force that had defeated Napoleon. Most immediately, it looked like it might take a miracle to pull the city’s factions together. The townsfolk had been comforted by Jackson’s return, but one of his attempts to unite the city’s population against the British almost destroyed the fragile unity he had achieved in his weeks in New Orleans. Against the advice of some Louisianans, Jackson accepted into his army two battalions of freemen of color. Though he required that officers of the two corps be white men, he also ordered that black soldiers be treated the same way as white volunteers, a shocking attitude in a society that doubted the humanity and trustworthiness of nonwhites. When one paymaster objected, Jackson made his position clear. He needed every man he could get and was determined not to worry about the prejudices of the white men: “Be pleased to keep to yourself your opinions . . . without inquiring whether the troops are white, black or tea.”5
The people of New Orleans, no matter their skin color, whether French or American, male or female, young or old, devout or not, would have to rally behind General Andrew Jackson if the city was to fight off its attackers. Outnumbered and outgunned, they were unlikely to defeat the British even if they did unite. Divided, they had no chance.
The Grand Parade
Jackson turned his attention to calming a panicked populace and persuading everyone to pull together.
New Orleans was a city that loved a parade, and Jackson decided there was no better way to cheer and inspire the anxious townspeople. He announced there would be a procession into the city’s central downtown square, the Place d’Armes, on Sunday, December 18.
On the day of the parade, the people of New Orleans crowded together in the doors and windows lining the square. Even more townspeople lined the balconies and roofs, and the surrounding streets were packed with sailors and laborers and freemen.
With the towering old Spanish Cathedral of St. Louis as the backdrop, and accompanied by the roll of drums and the cheers of the crowd, two regiments of Louisiana state militia marched in, most dressed in civilian clothes. Not all carried guns, and those who did brought what they had, shouldering a mix of rifles, muskets, and fowling pieces. The militia was followed by uniformed companies resplendent in full parade dress. Major Jean Baptiste Plauché, a cotton broker who had volunteered when he felt the call of duty, led one battalion of 287 men, which consisted of two generations of local businessmen, planters, and lawyers. Stirred to patriotic fervor, women of the town waved scarves and handkerchiefs as their husbands and sons marched by.
But would they cheer for the next wave of marchers? As martial music was played, the troops of Frenchmen were followed by a well-drilled battalion of 210 freemen, most of them Haitians, commanded by a bakery owner, Major Jean Daquin. Choctaws marched, too, commanded by Pierre Jugeat, a trader who had married into the tribe. Here was a test of the unity that Jackson hoped the parade would create. The townspeople had celebrated their own; now would they celebrate these protectors who didn’t look like them and whom they sometimes regarded with suspicion?
It’s possible there was a break in the cheering, but if there was, it was not long enough to record. Whatever the motive—fear of the British, a change of heart, or the frenzy of the moment—the people of New Orleans together honored even these troops that they had so recently questioned.
Proudly following the Haitians and Choctaws were representatives of the city’s high society. Thomas Beale, a gentleman from Virginia, had just days before persuaded several dozen of his friends—a range of merchants and New Orleans professionals—to don blue hunting shirts and wide-brimmed black hats and to shoulder their long Kentucky rifles.6 These sharpshooters called themselves Beale’s Rifles and many of them wore miniature bouquets of flowers pinned to their shoulders, good luck tokens from wives and mothers.
The force that filled the square, some 1,500 men, seemed suddenly formidable and impressive. Together with the militiamen en route, the number of troops defending New Orleans had doubled in the sixteen days since Jackson arrived. This army had come together in a matter of weeks. Even more remarkably, the patchwork force of the high- and low-born seemed prepared to work together to save their city, perhaps in answer to the nuns’ prayers, perhaps because of Jackson’s leadership genius.
Although the total number of soldiers was not large, Jackson made a point of giving each group representation on his staff. In addition to Livingston and Claiborne, a mix of merchants, French nationals, and other locals held freshly issued officer ranks. Now, because of Jackson’s careful delegation and savvy reading of the city’s mood, a once-divided New Orleans was caught up in the fervor of the moment, and morale soared as they saw the clear proof that they would not go unprotected. The parade had been a stroke of genius, galvanizing the fighting force of freed slaves, Indians, pirates, woodsmen, militiamen, and French colonials.
But the general wasn’t there only to display the growing power of his army. He wished to deliver a message himself. Riding his favorite horse, Duke, Jackson cut an imposing figure as he rode to the center of the square. Again, he entrusted Edward Livingston to deliver his message in French and, as the cheers quieted, Livingston began his translation.
First, he complimented the people of New Orleans on their bravery even as he exhorted them to further heroism: “The American nation shall applaud your valour, as your general now praises your ardour.” Jackson’s promise, he told them, was of victory: “Continue with the energy you have began, and he promises you not only safety, but victory.”7 Then he addressed the various factions, with specific words for the militia, for the Creoles, and for the blacks.
But Jackson’s action to unify the city went one step further. He left his appreciative audience reassured and inspired—but he had also, just the day before, issued a declaration of martial law. Henceforth, anyone entering the city would have to report to the office of the general; those wishing to leave needed written permission from Jackson or a member of his staff. The streets would go dark at 9:00 p.m. Every able-bodied man was expected to fight, while the old or infirm would police the streets. The legality of the declaration wasn’t clear, but Jackson would stop at nothing to beat back the British.
The declaration of martial law also meant that men, whatever their color or nationality, could be conscripted forthwith to become sailors—and Commodore Patterson chose to put this new authority to immediate use. With the loss of the flotilla on Lake Borgne, Patterson’s force had shrunk to one warship on the Mississippi, the schooner USS Carolina, and a converted merchantman, the USS Louisiana. Reportedly a speedy ship before she was armed with sixteen guns, the Louisiana had no crew, but now, under Jackson’s authority, Patterson and his officers could draft the sturdiest sailors they could find to man the ninety-nine-foot sloop. In a matter of hours, the new tars of the Louisiana were drilling on its decks.
Jackson’s words in the Place d’Armes calmed the city; panic had ebbed as the citizens witnessed his preparations and leadership, and little grumbling was heard. Applause had rippled across the crowd as Livingston brought the speech to a close, and when the troops in the Place d’Armes were dismissed, they melted into the crowd of well-wishers. Everyone knew this might be his last chance to visit with family before the call to fight.
The urgency of their need to defend family and friends was one of the few advan
tages the Americans had. Jackson and his men might be less experienced than the British, but they had the added motivation of fighting for their homes and their loved ones. If they lost, they had nowhere to go, unlike Gleig and his men, who could return to their families in England.
The stakes of the battle weighing on him, Jackson, ailing and anxious, returned to his quarters more determined than ever to hold off the British. Little did he know that the invaders were already well on their way.
Men on the Move
On the morning before Jackson’s parade, the British had begun their advance. Because deep-draft warships could not penetrate Lake Borgne, the British embarked once again in barges. Stroke by wearying stroke, oarsmen propelled the first loads of British soldiers westward from the navy’s anchorage in Mississippi Sound into the lake.
The danger of the American gunboats had been eliminated, but the trip across the lake was still not an easy one for the British. The men sat so tightly packed that shifting position was almost impossible, and storms that blew across the lake soon made the ten-hour, thirty-mile journey truly miserable. As the infantry officer Lieutenant Gleig noted, he and his men were pummeled by “heavy rains, such as an inhabitant of England cannot dream of, and against which no cloak will furnish protection.”8 The open boats posed a particular hardship to African-Caribbeans, dressed in light clothing and unused to chilly temperatures, and many of them died later after becoming ill in the cold.9
Many hours into the journey across the lake, the invaders’ first destination came into view. Known to the Creoles as Isle aux Pois, but called Pea Island by the British, this swampy mound of land, little more than a sandbar, would serve as a staging point in the attack. The soldiers disembarked and then the empty boats reversed course back to the fleet. At least three round-trips would be needed to move the full invading force to Pea Island, meaning the sailors would have to row the thirty-mile distance five times before returning to the ships once again for stores and artillery.
Even then, however, the job of ferrying Cochrane’s force was only half complete: Pea Island with its wild ducks and alligators sat at the northern end of Lake Borgne, halfway to the beachhead from which the troops could march on the city. Another hard row of some thirty miles was necessary before the march to New Orleans could commence.
Pea Island offered neither buildings nor trees for shelter. The soldiers, stiff and wet from the crossing, carried no tents and suffered as bad weather continued. After the rain slowed to a stop, the conditions improved little. The temperature dropped rapidly at night and, with a sharp wind off the water, the soldiers’ uniforms stiffened with frost. The dinner fare wasn’t very appetizing, consisting of “salt meat and ship biscuit . . . moistened by a small allowance of rum . . . not such as to reconcile us to the cold and wet under which we suffered,” as one officer noted.10 Even Admiral Cochrane and the commanding army general, John Keane, far from the comforts aboard the HMS Tonnant, had to adapt, their island quarters makeshift shelters of thatched grasses.
Five full days were required to move the first several thousand troops to Pea Island but morale remained high. “From the General, down to the youngest drum-boy, a confident anticipation of success seemed to pervade all ranks; and in the hope of an ample reward in store for them, the toils and grievances of the moment were forgotten.”11 As the troops assembled, there was heady talk of a “speedy and bloodless conquest,” as well as of rich booty, because even the lowliest of cabin boys could expect a share of the spoils when the wealth of New Orleans was divided up.
On its way into battle, despite the hardships of the trip, the finest army in the world had little doubt that New Orleans would soon be theirs.
The British Make Landfall
While the British shuttled their troops to shore, Jackson waited blindly. He knew the enemy now controlled Lake Borgne, but what route would they take from the lake?
One clue arrived compliments of a schooner captain named Brown. Sailing on Lake Borgne, together with his pilot, a black man named Michaud, he had seen a daunting sight, “count[ing] three hundred and forty-eight barges, carrying each forty or fifty men, infantry, cavalry, and two regiments of Negroes.” Brown was brought to Jackson.
Where, the general asked, did they observe this flotilla?
“They disembarked at Ile-aux-Poix,” Brown replied.12 Jackson wished to know more, but the schooner captain could offer no further details.
Jackson was left to ponder—as he advised the secretary of war—where the enemy would “choose his point of attack.”13 He knew from his own reconnoitering that the best approach from Pea Island could be along the Plain of Gentilly, so Jackson dispatched defenders, including a regiment of Louisiana militia and a battalion of free blacks. Because it was also possible that His Majesty’s soldiers would take a route south of the plain, Jackson ordered another Louisiana regiment downriver to be posted at Jumonville. At the Villeré plantation just downstream, a picket was posted to watch for danger from that approach, while another division of the militia marched toward English Turn, in case the British came that way. Every fort in the vicinity was manned and everyone was on watch and alert.
The most direct routes were now covered, but Jackson still had two problems. First, he did not have enough ammunition for his men. Second, he had insufficient knowledge of the bayous to truly plan to repel every possible attack. He had examined the local topography to the best of his ability, but it wasn’t enough. To ensure the safety of the city, he would need to add one more group to his motley coalition of troops.
Partnering with the Pirates
For months, Jackson resisted making a deal with the devil. When Governor Claiborne had forwarded Jean Lafitte’s warning back in September concerning the British attempt to recruit the pirates of Barataria Bay, Jackson had written back, angrily dismissing the Lafitte brothers and their fellow privateers as “hellish banditti.” Claiborne concurred: Louisiana’s governor was a sworn enemy of the privateers and, in September, had even ordered a raid of Barataria Bay, driving the outlaws into hiding elsewhere in the marshes south of the city.
Yet the Lafittes still had powerful friends in New Orleans and, with the danger of invasion on everyone’s mind, attitudes softened toward Jean who, at great risk to himself, had relayed word of the British approach. The motives of the pirates were hard to decipher—were they really pro-American or was Lafitte just looking for pardons for past offenses?—but many in the Creole community wanted to enlist their help under these desperate circumstances. Indeed, on December 14, the Louisiana legislature passed a resolution promising amnesty for their piratical transgressions if the Lafittes and their men helped fight the British.
With the British now so near at hand, Jackson consulted Edward Livingston. For three years, Livingston had been Jean Lafitte’s legal adviser. Until now, Jackson had followed William Claiborne’s lead and regarded the Baratarians as infamous bandits. But Jackson’s army was low on matériel—and he had gotten wind of Lafitte’s boast that he could outfit an army of thirty thousand.
The time had come for Monsieur Lafitte and General Jackson to meet.
After obtaining a pass into the city from a federal judge—there remained a warrant out for his arrest—Jean Lafitte arrived at the three-story brick house on Royal Street. Major Latour, now a trusted member of Jackson’s brain trust, offered to bring his friend Lafitte in. He did the introductions and helped bridge the language gap.
Jackson listened to Monsieur Lafitte’s proposal, as he “solicited for himself and for all the Baratarians, the honor of serving under our banners . . . to defend the country and combat its enemies.”14 Jackson had his doubts—more than once he had dismissed Lafitte and his men as “pirates and robbers.” Still, this proposal was beginning to make sense.
Lafitte explained he could offer more than his allegiance. He claimed to have one thousand men, all willing to fight. Just as important to Jackson, however, was the cache
of powder, shot, and essential flints—some seven thousand of them, he said—which were needed to provide the spark used to fire muzzle-loaded flintlock muskets and pistols.
The general and the pirate regarded each other. The two shared little in life experience, yet both had a native gift for leadership; they were men around whom other men rallied. They had differing moral codes but shared a respect for what they regarded as fairness and natural law. Just as Jackson had recognized the Red Stick chief Weatherford as a man who, at great risk to himself, had confronted Jackson seeking common cause, he began to see Lafitte in the same light. The pirate just might prove to be a key ally.
Lafitte knew the backwaters of this region intimately.
The man who stood before Jackson promised him men and munitions.
The artillerists in his band were famously skilled.
His stores of gunpowder would be invaluable.
A deal was struck, and Jackson dictated a note saying, “Jean Lafitte has offered me his services to go down and give every information in his power. You will therefore please to afford him the necessary protection from insult and injury and when you have derived the information you wish, furnish him with a passport for his return, dismissing him as soon as possible as I shall want him here.”15
Lafitte’s intelligence would be critical, and some of his privateers would be assigned to help protect Bayou St. John north of the city and to reinforce Fort St. Philip downstream on the Mississippi. Others would be organized into two artillery companies. The stores of munitions the pirates had accumulated would be removed to Jackson’s magazine. Lafitte himself would then join Jackson’s officer corps.
Together, they would seek to save New Orleans.
Across the Sea, in Ghent
Andrew Jackson and the Miracle of New Orleans Page 11
