Revelation: Unexpected turn of luck; success.
January 8, 1815
Jackson had slept a couple of hours in his tent when he was awakened by a messenger from General Morgan, commander of American forces on the southern side of the river.
“Sir, the activity on the riverbank at the English camp makes General Morgan certain that the main attack will be against his position on the south side of the river.”
After a long yawn, General Jackson said, “Horse manure! Return to General Morgan and remind him that the city is on this side of the river. The English know that if they advance on the south bank, I will hold the interior lines and can easily move this army parallel to the English and be prepared to prevent any attempt by them to recross the river. Also, an English advance west on the south bank will allow me to cut their supply line to their fleet. So far, we have held our own, but it’s not because the English are stupid.”
Jackson yawned again and then added, “And having said that, Monsieur Shepard, please deliver my message to General Morgan with a little more tact.”
“Yes, General Jackson, I will relay your message in the manner of a Creole gentleman!”
Blinking at his pocket watch, Jackson continued, “Twenty minutes after one. I may as well stay up. We don’t need to awaken the troops for another two hours. The English will probably attack at daybreak or a little before, so three o’clock a.m. will give us plenty of time to prepare. Light another lantern, Rufus; I’m going to the Macarty house to keep an eye on the English camp.”
It was not so much what General Jackson saw from the second floor of the ruined Macarty house as what he heard. From the direction of the English camp came the sound of digging and hammering, but, oddly, Jackson could see no fires or even candles burning. Clearly, the English were trying to conceal their activity and apparently thought that the sleeping American troops’ snoring would drown out the noise.
Jackson observed that the English had been almost correct about the snoring, and he presumed that the hammering came from sappers making plank bridges to cross the ditch and ladders for scaling the rampart. The digging and other noise could be the English repairing and rearming the artillery emplacements that the American artillery had decimated on New Year’s Day.
After detecting the futile English attempt to conceal their preparations, Jackson gave the order to awaken the troops so they could cook, eat, and take their positions before sunrise. Fourteen-year-old Jordan B. Noble, a drummer of Major Daquin’s Battalion of Free Men of Color, began the long roll for reveille, although most of the soldiers did not actually need to be awakened.
Leaving the Macarty house, Jackson walked the 280 yards to Battery 1 at the river end of the rampart. The battery’s light cannons were manned by regular US Army artillerymen and supported to their north by Captain Thomas Beale’s militia company of New Orleans riflemen. Covering the next eighty yards was the 7th US Army infantry regiment. Old Hickory praised the men of these units for the fighting spirit they had shown to this point and was confident in their ability to inflict another defeat on the enemy.
Shaking hands and slapping backs, he moved to Battery 2. The general warmly greeted the former sailors of the USS Carolina who manned one of the ship’s cannons, now landlocked. He commended the seamen, a mix of Yankees and Baratarians, for their steadfast bravery in having shelled the English camp during the December 23 night battle and the following days.
Encouraging more men of the 7th Infantry, the general moved along the forty yards of rampart to Battery 3 and the aroma of brewing coffee. Battery 3 consisted of two heavy naval cannons under the command of Jean Lafitte’s half brother, Dominique Yu, and crewed by Baratarian privateers, including Peter. Resting by his cannon, Millie’s beau was packing his ears with cotton while watching Jackson’s approach. The general gladly accepted a cup of hot coffee from the diminutive Dominique, jubilantly thanking him and his brother for the coffee, the cannons, gunpowder, projectiles, musket flints, and, most of all, the experienced gun crews. Jackson noticed Peter and nodded to the observant Baratarian; Peter saluted in return.
Savoring his hot coffee, Jackson smiled to himself. Perhaps because these men were more accustomed to confronting an enemy, they had enjoyed their early-morning meal of coffee, beignets, cornbread, and bacon. Jackson knew that his men from Kentucky and Tennessee had had a simple breakfast of cornbread and whiskey. The citizen soldiers from New Orleans, he supposed, preferred not having any food. Tension, anxiety, and fear already filled their stomachs. The general understood; he was familiar with those sensations.
The next two hundred yards to Battery 4 were defended by Major Jean Baptist Plauce’s Battalion of New Orleans Volunteers and Major Pierre Lacoste’s Battalion of Free Men of Color. Although Major Lacoste’s men were untested, Jackson told them he knew they were the equals of the brave Creoles of Major Plauce’s battalion, who had held the left flank of the American army during the night battle and beaten off a determined bayonet charge by the English reinforcements, preventing the American army from being outflanked.
Battery 4 possessed the largest cannon in the American arsenal: a thirty-two-pounder naval gun served by more former USS Carolina crewmen. Upon Jackson’s greeting, they voiced their readiness for the enemy assault.
The general next encountered Major Jean Daquin’s Second Battalion of Free Men of Color, who manned the 160 yards of the rampart between Batteries 4 and 5. Andre had been assigned to help clean their weapons. He was crouching down next to Miguel as Jackson stopped to talk to the 250 men. They all listened quietly as Old Hickory said that he had not forgotten how they and the Creole volunteers had stood their ground and defeated a charge by the exalted English army. He assured them that all citizens of the United States would always remember their bravery. He counseled them to be vigilant while exuding confidence that victory could be theirs. Miguel and Andre, along with the rest of the men of color, felt more assured as the general acknowledged their service.
Batteries 5 and 6 were only a few yards apart and consisted of light field pieces manned by US Army artillerymen and veterans of Napoleon’s army. They saluted their general, indicating their preparedness.
The final functioning battery, Battery 7, was 200 yards to the east and roughly 240 yards from the edge of the swamp. The general took his time making his way to the last battery while encouraging the Tennessee volunteers under General William Carroll. Although they had missed the night battle, many had served gallantly in the Indian War and had turned back the English advance on December 28. He advised that they now were the defenders of the center of the American line because of their famous accuracy and the range of their rifles.
Walking toward the lightening sky, Jackson encountered General Coffee. Coffee’s Tennessee volunteers held the eastern end of the rampart, such as it existed, for its 520-yard extension through the cypress swamp.
“Well, General Coffee, as always, your men have the toughest assignment: standing in the water with their rifles, waiting for the English to appear.”
“Don’t worry, General, we have Captain Jugeat’s fifty Choctaws scouting out in front, so we’ll have plenty of warning if the English come this way.”
“Well, remind your men not to worry about their feet, but to keep their powder dry!”
“Andy, if you think my men needed that information, you and me would be here alone. The others would be buried back at Emuckfaw Creek, Enotachopo Creek, or Horseshoe Bend.”
Jacques, who was still mourning Tobias’s death, had nonetheless returned to Coffee’s side to assist as needed. Right now, though, he was wet and shivering in the bitter cold. But he smiled at Coffee’s words. He knew that the woodsmen he accompanied were not inexperienced; they were seasoned in the use of firearms, had seen combat, and were far better marksmen than the enemy. Whatever action the British had planned, these Americans were guaranteed to perform valiantly.
Jackson laughed. “You are right, as always, John Coffee. The Tennessee volunteers have endured hardships worse than wet feet and fought with courage, resolution, and like professionals.”
Glancing at the sky, Jackson changed the subject. “Today is the day. I can hear the Redcoats. I can feel them. I just can’t see them yet.”
Coffee replied, “Just a few minutes ago, that Choctaw Nakni captured two Redcoat deserters: Irishmen runaways through the swamp. Figured not much difference between an Irish bog and a Louisiana swamp; got lost real fast. Said they were part of a work party repairing English artillery redoubts. In return for a promise that we wouldn’t trade ’em back to the English, they were more than happy to let us know the English will attack today, as soon as their cannons are in place.”
“Well, that agrees with all the other observations and reports. Like to borrow one of your horses, John. Want the men to be able to see me when the lead starts flying.”
“Well, if you promise to return it in as good a condition as you get it. On top of a horse, you’ll be showing above the rampart. Lot of that lead will be flying at you.”
“Brave men are braver when they can see that their leader is not hiding someplace. But if it will make you happy, get me your shortest horse.”
“Just what I had in mind; unfortunately, I don’t have a billy goat handy.”
“Now, John, an old goat riding an old goat might confuse the men.”
“Yes, but the real goat would probably have more sense than to go trotting along behind the rampart!”
As Jacques listened to the two friends bantering, he briefly forgot his troubles. He just continued smiling and thinking, Mon Dieu! These crazy Americans!
Mounted on a stallion and rejoining his staff, Jackson looked at his defenses through the enemy’s eyes. He was confident that General Coffee’s Tennessee volunteers could hold his northern flank and the cypress swamp. The weakest point in the defenses was from Battery 7, where the artillery support consisted of only one six-pounder and one eighteen-pounder cannon covering a stretch of about 250 yards to the swamp. Although General Carroll’s seasoned Tennessee militia defended that section of the rampart, Jackson ordered General Adair’s Kentucky volunteers who did not have firearms to form a reserve line twenty yards behind the Tennesseans.
As the sky began to brighten, the men of the various units moved to their assigned positions. A thick mist hovered above the ground, obscuring the view of the fields extending to the English camp. The elevation of the parapet gave the Americans a slight advantage, but the English did not appear. The Americans waited in silence, each man reflecting on his own thoughts and the coming battle.
Satisfied that his army was as prepared as possible, General Jackson walked his horse to a point just south of Battery 7. This gave him a view both along and across the weakest portion of the American line.
Suddenly, a rocket roared into the air and zigzagged across the sky. The Americans craned their necks to follow the rocket’s path. Then it quickly fizzled and disappeared. But still there was no sign of the English attack. The Americans along the rampart waited in anticipation for several minutes, which felt like hours. Then, suddenly, the roar of thunder boomed as the English artillery opened fire. The American cannons promptly replied. The air in the one-thousand-yard-wide battlefront was quickly filled with various-size projectiles of iron, from cannonballs to exploding shells.
General Jackson remounted his horse and moved with his staff a few yards farther back from the rampart, opening up access for the foot soldiers and providing an extra margin of safety for his officers. As both sides continued their artillery duel, Jackson thanked God that he did not have to order his men to charge into that storm of missiles.
As the mist continued to thin, the general’s assessment was proven, as the multiple ranks of Redcoats became visible to the Americans along the rampart.
The initial English advance was along the river, directly in front of American Batteries 1, 2, and 3, and within range of the battery on the west riverbank.
As the English infantry advanced, their artillery support slackened to prevent them from hitting their own troops. With targets in view, the American batteries stepped up their fire as their pickets scurried back to the safety of the rampart. When the American pickets reached safety, the men of Beale’s New Orleans Rifle Company and the US 7th Infantry opened fire, adding a storm of rifle and musket balls to the cannon fire. The musket and rifle fire tumbled scores of Redcoats, while the three American batteries along the rampart began firing grapeshot, turning the English soldiers into a haze of red mist. The attack along the river disintegrated as fleeing Redcoats tried to take refuge on the riverside of the levee, only to come under fire from the American battery on the south side of the river. The common English soldier believed he had only one real option. Advancing against the American rampart meant certain death. Therefore, he chose the wrath of his officers, and a possible prison term for cowardly conduct. Knowing that many of the officers were dead or wounded hastened the decision.
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.