“Governor Claiborne?”
Jackson looked around. “I don’t see Governor Claiborne. Is he here
or with his men?”
“Here, General.” Claiborne
eased his horse forward.
“This move up the bayou here
may be a feint or the enemy may be plannin’ to attack on two
fronts.”
Claiborne nodded.
“For now I want you to leave
your four regiments of militia on the Gentilly Plain.”
“I only have three
regiments, General,” Claiborne replied.
For a moment Jackson looked
confused, then he turned in his saddle. “General
Carroll?”
“Here, sir.”
“Can you send one of your
regiments with the Governor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“See to it, please, then
join the main body.”
“Where, sir?” Carroll
asked.
“We will proceed to the
Montreuil plantation where the rest of our army will be assemblin’.
From there we will move downstream along the levee road to the open
area between the Chalmette and McCarty plantations. But you should
catch us before then.”
“Very well, General.”
Carroll saluted and moved off to join Governor
Claiborne.
Jackson looked around again,
turning his horse. “General Coffee.”
“Sir.”
“You will be our
van.”
“Yes, sir.”
“General Van
Buskirk?”
“Sir.”
“I want you with me, sir. If
I fall, you will have command of this army.”
“I understand, sir,” Yank
replied.
Jackson looked around once
again. “Questions?” He waited a moment. “Very well then, let’s move
out.”
As Jackson’s officers raced
out to form their units for the move downriver, the garrisons at
Fort St. John, Fort St. Charles and from the various camps on the
right bank marched to meet him at Montreuil. The Battle of New
Orleans had begun.
4:00 PM
December 23, 1814
Chalmette Plantation,
Louisiana
British general Baron John
Keane sent a skirmish line out from Villeré’s plantation to meet
the advancing Americans. Coffee met the skirmishers with a small
party, but retired quickly when one of his horses was killed and
two of his men were wounded. Keane’s infantry was weary, wet and
cold so rather than pursuing the Americans, he ordered his men to
bivouac and cook a meal.
Jackson placed his troops on
line in clear sight of the British bivouac, then waited until dusk,
when a predictable heavy fog rolled in. Now hidden from British
eyes, he moved the bulk of his force toward the river, while
sending Coffee’s Mounted Rifles, Beale’s New Orleans Rifles and
Hinds’s Mississippi Dragoons toward the edge of the swamp where
they were ordered to flank the British and push them toward the
main body.
“I want half of the
Seventh Regiment, the Marines and artillery arrayed back along the
levee road,” Jackson said to the remaining officers. “The balance
of our forces will fill in on the level ground.” He waited a moment
for questions. then continued. “In about three hours, Commodore
Patterson will position the
USS
Carolina
along the left bank of the river
where she can deliver broadsides of grape against the enemy
bivouac.” He pointed, needlessly, toward the Mississippi. “When the
barrage has ended,
Carolina
will signal with a red, white and blue rocket. We
will then close on the enemy and destroy him.”
December 23, 1814
McCarty Plantation,
Louisiana
At exactly 7:30 PM, as
directed by Jackson,
USS Carolina,
commanded by Captain John D. Henley, and two
gunboats drifted silently down the river to anchor by the bow a
hundred sixty yards abreast of the British bivouac. The schooner
carried fourteen guns and one hundred officers and men. The
gunboats carried crews of thirty-six and thirty-nine respectively.
The first gunboat was armed with one long 24-pounder and four
12-pounder carronades while the second carried a long 32-pounder
and four 6-pounders. Many of the gunboats’ cannons were manned by
Lafitte’s Baratarians.
At exactly 7:30 PM,
Carolina’s
first
broadside of grapeshot shattered the night and sent birds in the
trees and British soldiers at their campfires flying. Caught
completely by surprise, the British army scrambled to extinguish
their campfires only to be swept away by the second
salvo.
Keane’s sergeants
immediately began to chivvy the British soldiers into cohesive
units to return fire with their muskets while others continued to
scatter the fires.
As the relentless American
barrage continued, the British artillery and Congreve rocket
detachment was brought forward. Within minutes, however, it was
obvious that the musketry was useless and the artillery
ineffective. By the time the orders to pull back were issued, many
of the men had already sought positions behind the low levee and in
a hedge-lined ditch.
At 8:00 PM, the guns
of
Carolina
and
her subordinate vessels fell silent. Moments later, a rocket
streaked into the sky and burst with red, white, and blue
trails.
As Jackson’s two 6-pounders
on the levee road opened fire, the Marines began to move forward
with the Seventh and Forty-fourth infantry regiments on their left.
As they drew close to the ruined bivouac area, the British in the
ditch rose to meet them.
From reserve, British
General Keane ordered forward the Forty-fourth Regiment of Foot to
form a line near the river, but the move was immediately met by a
violent thrust from Plauche’s New Orleans battalion.
Coffee’s brigade, which was
about a thousand yards to the left, had made slower progress
through the heavy woods and the swamp. Now they swept down upon the
British right flank, rolled it up and captured the commanding
officer of the Ninety-fifth Rifles and more than fifty
soldiers.
The British near the hedge
had rallied well and pushed Jackson’s Marines back into their own
guns until the Seventh Infantry joined the fight and the British
withdrew.
Jackson’s Forty-fourth
Infantry was quickly rolling up the British right flank until they
ran directly into the melee between Plauche’s battalion and the
British Forty-fourth Regiment of Foot. Confusion soon ensued as
Americans fired on Americans and Jackson’s attack began to
sputter.
After his initial success,
Coffee too began to encounter stiff resistance from the British
Eighty-fifth and Ninety-fifth regiments which had been out
of
Carolina’s
range. When four companies of the British Twenty-first
Fusiliers arrived, seeing that his attack was already stalling,
Coffee began to withdraw.
During the quick drive
forward, Coffee’s brigade had become badly spread and the British,
seizing on the opportunity, re-secured their flank and captured
nearly half of Beale’s riflemen. Coffee’s battle had now become a
brawl between Tennessee axes and British bayonets.
At 11:00 PM, the British
line was anchored on Lacoste’s canal with the combined forces of
Coffee and Jackson pushing them toward the levee when the British
suddenly broke contact and withdrew back toward the Villeré
mansion.
“Should we pursue them,
General?” Coffee asked.
“No,” Jackson replied. “I’m
still not entirely convinced that this is their main thrust. If
this is a feint and New Orleans is attacked at dawn I cannot risk
havin’ you engaged in major battle here and unavailable in New
Orleans.”
“We have General Carroll’s
Tennesseans, now, General,” Coffee reminded him.
Jackson nodded. “Please
withdraw your troops to the de la Ronde plantation.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jackson waited until Coffee
had disappeared into the night before turning toward Yank. “Do you
agree?”
“Yes.”
“Do you really agree or are
you just sayin’ that?”
“I really agree,” Yank
chuckled. “When I disagree, sir, I guarantee that you’ll know
it.”
“What’s that firin’?”
Jackson shouted at a nearby aide.
“I’ll find out, sir.” The
aide spurred his horse toward the sound of musketry.
“That’s comin’ from Coffee’s
people,” Jackson said nervously to Yank.
“The British are badly
confused, sir,” Yank said calmly. “General Keane ordered
reinforcements and then a short time later he ordered the general
retreat. What we’re hearing is his reinforcements running into
Coffee’s line. Their skirmishers will be called back any
moment.”
“How can you be so
sure?”
“It happens all the
time.”
Jackson listened until the
musketry sputtered to a halt. “I suppose you know that I’m woefully
inexperienced.”
Yank looked at him for
several seconds. “Of all the generals I’ve ever known, you’re the
best, pure and simple.”
Jackson looked away then
shook his head. “I wish I could believe that.”
“Believe it. You just kicked
the shit out of the best army in the world on a battlefield that
they chose.”
The aide that Jackson had
sent forward rode up and saluted. “General Coffee’s compliments,
sir. The general says that some skirmishers came forward but were
immediately called back.”
“Thank you, lieutenant.”
Jackson sat back in his saddle. “Well, General Van Buskirk. If I’m
so danged smart, what am I gonna do now?”
“You’re going to pull back
to Rodriguez Canal and begin fortifying it.”
“Why would I want to give up
two whole miles of hard fought for ground?”
“Because our men will fold
up under a British bayonet attack.”
“They might fool
you.”
“If Napoleon’s regulars
couldn’t stand, I sincerely doubt that Louisiana fishermen and
farmers can.”
“Lieutenant,” Jackson
called.
“Sir?”
“All commanders, with the
exception of General Coffee, are ordered to retreat to Rodriguez
Canal where they will immediately begin to build earthworks in
anticipation of a dawn attack by the enemy.”
December 24,
1814
Rodriguez Canal,
Louisiana
The ditch, known locally as
the Rodriguez Canal, was six miles from the City of New Orleans, an
average of fifteen feet wide and six feet deep. It had once been a
millrace that carried water from a Mississippi River sawmill to the
swamp, but it was now essentially dry.
Yank was standing on the
bank of the canal, holding his horse’s reins and listening to one
of the regular army sappers complain.
“You can’t dig in this
bloody ground, sir. You can’t.”
“Well, if you can’t go down,
Sergeant, go up.” Yank pointed along the bank. “Drive fence posts
all along here, then pile dirt against them.”
“We don’t have enough men or
tools, sir. We don’t.”
“Lafitte and his men are
scouring the countryside for tools and General Jackson has gone to
New Orleans to recruit men. He told me before he left that anyone
who refused to volunteer would be jailed.”
The sergeant gave a
high-pitched giggle that startled Yank’s horse. “Ain’t he a pisser,
sir?”
“That’s possible,” Yank
agreed, patting the horse.
“We’ll get right to work on
them fence posts, sir.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” The
booming report from a ship’s cannon set his horse to jumping and
Yank had to hang on the reins to keep the animal from running away
and the saddle horn to keep from being tossed into the
mud.
“Not much of a warhorse,
sir,” the sergeant observed dryly.
“No, not much,” Yank agreed.
“He’s British. Mine was shot from under me last night.”
“You should of picked
another from our remuda, sir. We got a fair number.”
“I know. But this one
belonged to General Robert Ross. He’s the officer that burned
Washington. I chose his mount to insult him.” The horse reared as
another cannon fired.
“Might be just as good of a
insult to shoot that bastard.” With another of his
horse-frightening giggles, the sergeant returned to his platoon and
began shouting orders.
Yank looked toward the
river where the
USS Louisiana
had been anchored about a mile from
Carolina
. Commanded by
Captain Charles C. B. Thompson,
Louisiana
was armed with sixteen
24-pounders. Although the two ships had effectively prevented a
British advance, troops from the British fleet had been landing
from the bayou all day at the Villeré Plantation, well out of range
of the American ships’ guns.
At that moment,
Louisiana
and
Carolina
fired almost
simultaneously, setting off another struggle between Yank and the
skittish animal. He had once more gained control when Jean Lafitte
rode up.