“They’ll just have to live
with it or die with it as the case may be. I need you to have more
authority than a colonel so we can get this city’s defenses in
place. Put those on and let’s get crackin’, please.”
December 14,
1814
Royal Street, New Orleans,
Louisiana
Yank threw the reins of his
lathered horse to a stable boy then dashed up the steps of
Jackson’s headquarters to confront the first aide he saw. “I need a
message taken to General Jackson. He’s on Plain of
Gentilly.”
“He’s right there in his
office, sir,” the man replied, gesturing toward a closed door. “We
got word that the British had jumped our gunboats in the Gulf so
the general come straight on back.”
“And he got here before me?”
Yank asked incredulously. “I damn near killed my poor
horse.”
“You know the general, sir.
He don’t do nothin’ slow.”
Yank walked to the office
door, tried it, found it locked and knocked.
“Who is it?” Jackson’s voice
came from behind the door.
“Van Buskirk,
sir.”
“Just a minute.” After
several seconds, a key rattled in the lock. “Come in,
General.”
Yank walked in to see
Jackson stagger to the couch. “Are you ill, General?”
“Close the door and lock
it.”
Yank pushed the door shut
and turned the key. “What can I do for you?”
Jackson stretched out on the
couch. “You can drag a chair over here so I don’t have to sit
up.
Yank carried a chair across
the room and sat down. “I take it you heard about the naval
action.”
“Yes. But I’ve received no
reports of the outcome. Have you?”
“We have lost all five
gunboats and the British are loose on the lakes.”
“Who told you?”
“I saw it from Fort Petite
Coquilles.”
“Do you know the butcher’s
bill?”
“Not exactly, but my guess
is that the British lost two for every one of our
seamen.”
“We put up a good fight
then?”
“Magnificent.”
“Tell me about
it.”
“Our five gunboats were
becalmed in shallow water near the west end of Malheureux Island in
Lake Borgne and the British attacked with from forty to fifty
barges containing well over a thousand men. Our boats opened the
engagement and began systematically blowing them out of the water.
The British were retreating but when Jones went down their officers
rallied them. When our ammunition was finally expended and it came
down to hand-to-hand combat the British numbers were simply
overwhelming.”
“Is he dead?”
“Jones? No, sir. Not when I
left at any rate.”
“Can you tell me why
Commander Patterson did not come to the aid of his gunboats with
the
Carolina
and
his smaller warships, sir?”
“He is badly outmatched by
the British fleet, General. To engage would risk losing the only
American vessels in these waters.”
“I see. Why couldn’t Fort
Petite Coquilles offer some help?”
“The British barges were out
of range but even had they been closer the cannons are in such poor
condition that they would have likely burst their
tubes.”
“That bad?”
“The entire fort is useless.
Construction was never completed; it has no garrison and few
munitions. I ordered all ordinance and the few men there to abandon
it and report here to New Orleans.”
“The other
forts?”
“None that I’ve visited are
prepared for war. My advice is to collapse all the external
defenses back to here, then redeploy them when we’re sure which way
the British intend to attack.”
“I’ve sent express letters
to Generals Carroll, Coffee, and Thomas ordering them to hasten to
New Orleans with their forces.”
“Good. Has the militia been
ordered to active service?”
“Yes. But I’m told by
Governor Claiborne that the legislature is refusing to suspend
habeas corpus.”
“They’ll bow to public
pressure soon, General. There’s panic in the streets.”
“If they haven’t acted by
tomorrow morning I’ll declare martial law.”
“Good, but…”
“But what?”
“If we want to hold this
city, we really need Lafitte, his men, and perhaps more importantly
his guns and powder.”
“I’ll agree to see him but
that’s all.”
“I’ll arrange
it.”
December 16,
1814
New Orleans,
Louisiana
“Have you reconciled with
your dear wife, General Van Buskirk?” Jean Lafitte
asked.
“If you intend to provoke a
duel, sir,” Yank relied, “I beg you to wait until after this city
is secure.”
“I meant to do no such
thing,” Lafitte replied. “And I beg complete ignorance of whatever
I may have said that warranted your response.”
Yank looked into the
pirate’s eyes for several seconds. “My wife left me on the day
Louisiana became a state, sir. I’m astonished that the news had not
reached you.”
“That news did indeed reach
me, but.” He looked perplexed. “She is here, General.”
“Are you sure?”
“I spoke with her myself and
she told me that she had come back hoping for reconciliation with
you. In fact she gave me the impression that she would be seeing
you that night.”
It took Yank a moment to
respond. “When was this?”
Lafitte shrugged. “A week
ago I should think, maybe a bit more.”
“I fear that I have no time
to think about this now.” Yank took a breath. “Before we meet
General Jackson please allow me to tell you that he is a man of
very narrow values.”
“You need have no fear,
General. I am deeply committed to the cause and there is nothing
that General Jackson can say that will provoke me to quarrel with
him.”
Yank laughed. “Forgive me,
Captain, but this would be much easier if you would simply tell me
what it is that you want.”
Lafitte smiled. “American
plain talk is it? Very well. I can talk plainly. Governor Claiborne
has placed a price on my head and has bedeviled me. I want a full
pardon and assurances that he will hold off his dogs in the
future.”
“A pardon for past misdeeds
might be arranged but there can never be a guarantee that the State
of Louisiana or American governments will turn a blind eye on your
future actions.”
“The future should be of no
concern. I am a reformed man.”
“Yes, well, that’s something
you can try to convince Jackson of if you wish, but I don’t think
it matters.”
December 20,
1814
Royal Street, New Orleans,
Louisiana
Yank hurried across the room
to shake hands with General John Coffee. “I’m greatly relieved to
see you so soon,” he said. “We thought you were somewhere above
Baton Rouge.”
“We were,” Coffee replied.
“I only have a company with me. The rest of the brigade is
followin’ fast as they can come.”
“General Coffee came a
hundred and thirty-five miles in three days,” Jackson said with a
proud grin.
“Any word from General
Carroll’s Tennesseans?” Coffee asked Jackson.
Jackson nodded. “They
overtook some ammunition flatboats on the way here from Nashville.
He’s got his men aboard and he’s drillin’ them on the boats so
they’ll be ready to fight when they land. I expect them the day
after tomorrow. We’re gettin’ a near constant stream of
reinforcements from all over Louisiana, from Mississippi, and of
course Tennessee.”
“I’d heard the city was in
panic,” Coffee said, “but it didn’t appear to be panicky when we
rode in.”
“We had a bad day or two
until General Jackson declared martial law,” Yank said. “After
that, the public began to calm down almost immediately. They just
needed a firm hand on the reins.”
“There’s somethin’ I must
tell you, General Coffee,” Jackson said, “and I know you will
disapprove but it was necessary.”
Coffee said
nothing.
“I have enlisted the aid of
the pirate, Jean Lafitte.”
“That’s probably a good
decision,” Coffee said mildly. “We ran into Major Plauche of the
New Orleans Militia on the way in and we joined up with his column.
He convinced me that the British will be comin’ through the swamps
and not up the river. Those smugglers know the swamps.” He took off
his hat and looked at Yank. “Do you agree? That they’ll be comin’
through the swamps?”
“I do,” Yank replied,
resolutely.
“The question is, where in
the swamps,” Jackson grumbled.
Coffee nodded. “It’s a mess
out there.”
“Other than scoutin’
patrols,” Jackson said, “I’m keepin’ the entire force in the city
in the hopes that we’ll get enough warnin’ to deploy.
House-to-house fightin’ in an American city is somethin’ to be
avoided at almost any cost.”
December 23,
1814
Royal Street, New Orleans,
Louisiana
“General Van Buskirk,” the
aide said, opening Yank’s office door. “Majors Howell Tatum and A.
L. Latour are here as ordered, sir.”
“Thank you. Please send them
in.” Yank stood up behind his desk and shook hands with both
officers as they were shown in. “This morning, General Jackson
received a report from Colonel de La Ronde that the British fleet
is in a position that suggests an imminent landing.” He walked to a
map on the wall. “If he’s correct, that would put them about
here.”
“That’s Bayou Bienvenue,
sir,” Latour said. “It leads directly to the plantation of General
Villeré.”
“It was blocked and
impassable,” Tatum added.
“I never checked it, did
either of you?” Yank asked.
“Sir,” Latour said in a
protesting tone. “To question General Villeré would be an
insult.”
“Well,” Yank said, “when you
get back from checking his bayou we can discuss that, Major.” He
tapped the map. “Recon in force from here to here including General
Villeré’s plantation and Bayou Bienvenue. Any
questions?”
“No, sir.”
“No, sir.”
“I wish you God’s speed,
gentlemen.” He walked to the window and watched until the two
companies had moved out before walking next door to Jackson’s
office. “Tatum and Latour just moved out.”
Jackson was on the couch but
sitting up. “Do you suppose that rascal Villeré left the bayou on
his plantation open?”
“He argued from the start
that the British would sail straight up the Mississippi and that
blocking the bayous was a waste of time and money.”
“Governor Claiborne warned
me against Villeré but I failed to heed him.”
“Governor Claiborne and
Jacques Villeré are political enemies. They ran against each other
for governor in 1812. I’d be suspicious of anything that one said
about the other.”
“We still should have
checked.”
“Well, it’s too late to
worry about that now, sir.” Yank walked to examine Jackson’s map.
“In a way I hope we find the British there.”
“Why on earth would you hope
that?”
“If they’re really there
they’ll be very tired and they can’t have cannons of any weight.
And, the ground near Villeré’s plantation is as good as any ground
we’ll find. We could give them a bloody nose there.”
Jackson got up. “What’s the
ground like exactly?”
“Well, that will depend on
exactly where we meet but there’s a ditch called the Rodriguez
Canal between the Chalmette and the McCarty plantations that could
lend itself very...” He stopped mid-sentence and walked to the
window to look down to see what the commotion was outside.
“Bugger.”
“Who’s out there?” Jackson
asked.
“Augustin Rousseau. His
horse is run-out. Bad news, I suspect.”
Jackson grimaced, got to his
feet, walked to the office door and opened it.
“And now here’s General
Villeré,” Yank said, still at the window.
“Alone?”
“Yes, sir. Muddy as Hell and
he looks very near panic.”
Jackson turned from the door
and sat down behind his desk. “Please stop me if I start to lose my
temper, General Van Buskirk.”
“I fear I shall be having
difficulty with my own, General Jackson.”
December 23,
1814
Fort St. Charles,
Louisiana
Andrew Jackson on horseback
was encircled by many officers while their troops stood waiting in
loose formations. The units included Jackson’s own regulars, the
Seventh and Forty-fourth infantry regiments supported by Spotts’s
artillery brigade, a company of U.S. Marines, a corps of New
Orleans volunteers, and a corps of freedmen. Behind them were
Coffee’s and Carroll’s brigades, Hinds’s Mississippi dragoons
bolstered by two dismounted and one mounted rifle company from
Louisiana.