by David Rooney
Pakenham, however, was insistent that the main force assaulted the American line before first light. He therefore ordered Thornton to proceed with the advance with what men he had. As they shoved off, it quickly became clear that the river was flowing faster than normal. They eventually made it across, but landed well below their target and lost even more precious time. Pakenham rode back to his headquarters through the fog and ordered his officers to make final preparations. There was considerable anxiety when they realized full well that Thornton had not yet successfully taken out the American guns. Nevertheless, they formed up, and with day about to break, hoped that Thornton would achieve his objective by the time they reached the American defences. As the morning mist evaporated, with a clear view of the enemy, Jackson’s artillery and the ships’ guns on the river started a relentless shower of grapeshot and cannonball. The British were badly exposed and their small arms were out of range of the Americans, but they continued the advance despite scores of men falling as grapeshot tore into their columns. Captain George Gleig recalled watching his comrades falling as the American guns kept up ‘a sweeping fire which cut them down by whole companies’. As the British struggled closer, the Kentucky snipers, along with Choctaw Indians and the rest of the militia, added to the carnage with accurate fire.
It had been less than an hour and with the British attack already faltering, Pakenham realized that Thornton had not yet succeeded on the other bank. In what proved to be a costly mistake, he diverted troops, which had been intended to reinforce the capture of the gun battery on Jackson’s right, to the centre. Moving to the left flank, Keane’s 93rd Foot (later the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders) were decimated by the American barrage. Three out of four men were killed; Keane was shot through the neck, but survived. Elsewhere, men were dying in the canal as they try to penetrate the American defences.
Pakenham frantically tried to maintain order as his officers urged forward the remaining troops. Rallying his men, some of whom were now retreating, Pakenham himself led a charge but his horse was shot from under him. His ADC gave him his horse, but on mounting, bullets hit him in the throat and chest. Dying, he was carried to the rear, but not before issuing a final order to General Lambert to bring up the reserves. Lambert pushed forward but made little progress since, with few leaders left, many of the British were now in full retreat. He consequently made the only decision sensibly open to him and took up a defensive position rather than continuing the advance. He was reinforced, no doubt, in this decision by Harry’s advice, ‘General, the army are in no state to renew the attack. If success now attended so desperate an attempt, we should have no troops to occupy New Orleans; our success even would defeat our object, and, to take an extreme view, which every soldier is bound to do, our whole army might be the sacrifice of so injudicious an assault.’ With a thick fog coming on, Harry said, ‘We know the enemy are three times our number. They will endeavour immediately to cut off our troops on the right bank, and we may expect an attack in our front. The fog favours us, and Thornton’s people ought to be brought back and brought into our line. The army is secure, and no further disaster is to be apprehended.’
Unaware that it was all over on the east side of the river, Thornton was finally in position to attack the American guns under General Morgan. The militia put up a fierce resistance but it was not good enough against an experienced commander like Thornton. His men dealt one blow after another to the American right flank until Morgan’s men spiked the guns and retreated. Although Thornton himself was badly wounded, part of his force secured the position while others pursued the Americans more than a mile up the riverbank, until orders from Lambert were received to fall back. The position had become isolated and too difficult to hold under the circumstances. Destroying what guns they could, they recrossed the river and saw, for the first time, the carnage on the battlefield. Sergeant David Brown of the 21st Foot (later the Royal Scots Fusiliers) remembered how ‘Many a gallant man and officer wiped the tears from their eyes when they looked back and on their comrades lying in the field.’
The British lost at least 300 dead in the battle; many more of the 1,200 wounded would die later or be maimed for life. The American casualties amounted to only thirteen killed and fifty-two wounded or missing. The Americans took 500 prisoners, but it was the sight of those on the field that made the deepest impression. William Lawrence, an American militiaman, later claimed, ‘I could have walked on the dead bodies of the British for one quarter of a mile without stepping on the ground.’
Late that afternoon, Harry was sent to the enemy with a flag of truce and a letter to General Jackson, with a request to be allowed to bury the dead and bring in the wounded lying between their respective positions. The Americans were not accustomed to what Harry called ‘the civility of war’, unlike the French, and it was some time before they were prepared to allow him to approach. They fired at him, which upset him, especially when a musket ball tore up the ground under his right foot. What annoyed him most was the thought of losing a foot or leg under such circumstances, when the battle was over. An American eyewitness gives this account:
It was near the close of the firing … there was a white flag raised on the opposite side of the breastwork and the firing ceased. The white flag, before mentioned, was raised about ten or twelve feet from where I stood, close to the breastwork and a little to the right. It was a white handkerchief, or something of the kind, on a sword or stick. It was waved several times, and as soon as it was perceived, we ceased firing. Just then the wind got up a little and blew the smoke off, so that we could see the field. It then appeared that the flag had been raised by a British Officer wearing epaulets. I was told he was a Major. He stepped over the breastwork and came into our lines. Among the Tennesseans who had got mixed with us during the fight, there was a little fellow whose name I do not know; but he was a cadaverous looking chap and went by that of Paleface. As the British Officer came in, Paleface demanded his sword. He hesitated about giving it to him, probably thinking it was derogatory to his dignity to surrender to a private all over begrimed with dust and powder and that some Officer should show him the courtesy to receive it. Just at that moment, Colonel Smiley came up and cried, with a harsh oath, ‘Give it up – give it up to him in a minute.’ The British Officer quickly handed his weapon to Paleface, holding it in both hands and making a very polite bow. A good many others came in just about the same time.
In the end, Harry received a very courteous reply from General Jackson, who would later become President. After delivering the reply to General Lambert, Harry was again sent out with a large fatigue party with entrenching tools to bury the dead, and some surgeons to examine and bring in the wounded. Harry was met by what he described as a rough fellow, a Colonel Butler, Jackson’s Adjutant-General. He had a drawn sword and no scabbard. Butler said, ‘Why now, I calculate as your doctors are tired; they have plenty to do to-day.’ There was a terrible scene of dead, dying, and wounded around them. ‘Do?’ said Harry. ‘Why, this is nothing to us Wellington fellows! The next brush we have with you, you shall see how a Brigade of the Peninsula army [arrived the day before] will serve you fellows out with the bayonet. They will lie piled on one another like round shot, if they will only stand.’ ‘Well, I calculate you must get at ‘em first.’ ‘But,’ said Harry, ‘what do you carry a drawn sword for?’ ‘Because I reckon a scabbard of no use so long as one of you Britishers is on our soil. We don’t wish to shoot you, but we must, if you molest our property; we have thrown away the scabbard.’
The surgeons by now had arrived. There were some appalling wounds from cannon and grape shot. Harry and his men dug a large pit and threw nearly 200 bodies into it. To the credit of the Americans, not an article of clothing had been taken from the dead, except the shoes. Every body was properly laid out and the large toes tied together with a piece of string, as was the custom.
That night Harry, utterly exhausted and emotionally drained by his day’s exertions, lay down wrapped in
his cloak at midnight, in General Lambert’s room, and was soon fast asleep. Before first light he was up and about, recalling with great sadness the men he loved and admired, particularly General Pakenham, however this was a luxury he could not allow himself for long. Duty called, he mounted his horse and did the rounds of the outposts and sentries. Then he rode to the hospital to check that the Chief Medical Officer had all he needed in the way of orderlies etc. Harry was lavish with his praise for what was being done for the wounded. On returning, he met General Lambert, who said, ‘You must have been pretty well done last night, for I did not see you when I lay down.’ ‘Yes, I had a long day, but we Light Division fellows are used to it,’ said Harry, with his customary lack of reticence! Lambert laughed and asked him to be his Military Secretary. It was Harry’s turn to laugh and say, ‘Me, sir! I write the most illegible and detestable scrawl in the world.’ (Authors’ note – agreed!) ‘You can, therefore,’ Lambert replied, ‘the more readily decipher mine. Poor Pakenham was much attached to you, and strongly recommended you to me.’ Up to now Harry had managed to keep his emotions in check, but with all he had recently been through, he burst into a stream of tears. From then on Harry was treated by Lambert as one of the family and, for many years after, the Lambert and Smith families remained in touch.
General Pakenham’s remains were put in a cask of spirits and taken home by his Military Secretary, Wylly, who sailed in a few days with dispatches bearing nothing but the gloom of a significant defeat.
‘Old Hickory’ Jackson wrote the following letter to Lambert just after the battle:
Head Quarters 7h. M. District
Lines below New Orleans
8h Jany 1815. 3 Oclock
Sir,
I have recd. your dispatch of this date. The Army which I have the honor to command have used every exertion to afford relief to the wounded of your Army, even at the constant risque of their lives, your men, never intermitting their fire during such exertions. The wounded now on the field beyond my lines, if you think proper may be taken beyond a line to be designated by my Adjt. General, and be paroled; Otherwise they may be taken to my hospital and treated with every care and attention. The flag sent by Commodore Patterson at my request, has been detained by the Admiral; leaving him uninformed of the fate of his command that was taken in the gunboats – The dead on the field beyond the line, above alluded to, you can inter. Those within that line shall be interred by my troops.
When a return is made of the wounded and prisoners taken on board the Gun boats, and the few men taken on the night of the 23d. it shall be returned by a similar one on my part.
If you should think proper to accede to the above propositions, you will please suggest any arrangement which you may think best for their Accomplishment. I am respectfully &c
A Jackson M G Cg
What none of the contestants knew, at the time, was that this battle, like the Battle of Toulouse before it, was totally unnecessary. The Treaty of Ghent between the United States and Great Britain had been signed on 24 December 1814. However, dispatches giving that news did not arrive until 14 February 1815, and the formal ratification not until 5 March.
Although reinforcements were expected, Lambert decided to re-embark the army and, wisely, abandon the idea of further operations against New Orleans – by now the enemy had greatly added to their strength and carried out considerable works on both banks of the river; they continually shelled the British positions, causing casualties. The British, uncomfortably, had to deploy a covering force to protect their withdrawal, pretending that they were merely evacuating their wounded. At this stage, Harry was sent forward under a flag of truce to propose an exchange of prisoners. Two companies of the 21st of Foot (later Royal Scots Fusiliers) and many riflemen had managed to climb the American defences but, not being supported by the main body, were easily taken prisoner. Similarly, the British had taken a number of prisoners the night the enemy attacked General Keane.
Harry negotiated the exchange with a Mr Lushington, General Jackson’s Military Secretary, an affable and able man. He was, apparently, well known in London, having been Under Secretary of the Legation. Harry enjoyed dealing with this man whom he described as liberal and clear headed. He was not, however, a military expert, and Harry induced him to believe that Lambert’s force had no intention of abandoning the conflict. During the afternoon, when the prisoner exchanges were completed, Harry said, ‘We shall soon meet in New Orleans, and after that in London.’ Lushington was evidently impressed with the idea that the British intended to attack again and Harry led him to believe that a night attack would be most likely. Nevertheless, they parted the best of friends and kept up correspondence down the years.
On 18 January, as soon as it was dark, the British began to move off; by midnight all patrols were in and the withdrawal was successfully under way. The enemy heard them and opened fire in the belief that a night attack was about to take place. Luckily the fire was ineffective and, although uncomfortably up to their necks in mud and water, Lambert’s men managed to get away unscathed over the next three days.
Once they had rested and recovered, Lambert resolved to take the town of Mobile.
An irritant, in the form of the small Fort Bowyer, lay at the mouth of the Mobile Bay, the taking of which would not present much of a military problem but would be an unnecessary distraction and inevitable loss of life. Nevertheless, it could not be bypassed. Harry was therefore sent by Lambert to negotiate the surrender. There then followed a hilarious exchange between Harry and the commander of the Fort, a Major Lawrence, who clearly had never met anyone quite like Harry before. One cannot improve on Harry’s version:
The Major was as civil as a vulgar fellow can be. I gave him my version of his position and cheered him on the ability he had displayed. He (Major Lawrence) said, ‘Well, now, I calculate you are not far out in your reckoning. What do you advise me to do? You, I suppose, are one of Wellington’s men, and understand the rules in these cases.’ ‘This,’ I said, ‘belongs to the rule that the weakest goes to the wall, and if you do not surrender at discretion in one hour, we, being the stronger, will blow up the fort and burn your wooden walls about your ears.’
The fort surrendered.
Two days later the dispatches arrived with the news of the Treaty of Ghent and it was decided, pending Ratification, to disembark the troops on a large island at the entrance of Mobile Bay, called Isle Dauphine. At first they had great difficulty in obtaining fresh provisions, but as the sea was full of fish, nets were put out and large catches achieved. Biscuit ran short and, while flour was plentiful, it was giving men dysentery. Harry then hit on the idea of making an oven from a mortar compound of burnt oyster shells and sand, in which to bake bread. This proved such a success that he was able to hold a breakfast party for the Admiral and the generals at which freshly baked bread was produced. Harry’s innovation, of course, was copied by the regiments and round the Fleet to everyone’s satisfaction.
Harry’s morale was further raised as, with the dispatches, came a letter from Juana, dying for his return and telling him of the love his family had for her. Harry, for his part, now that peace was assured, could not want anything more.
With the Ratification confirmed, the force now happily sailed for home via Havana to re-provision. They spent a week there and Harry’s expert Spanish was, again, put to much use, particularly in conversation with the ladies. General Lambert, Harry and his friends also met the celebrated Mr Woodville, a cigar maker. He asked them to breakfast at his house, 4 or 5 miles out of the town. He was about six feet two, a big powerful man, with lots of snow-white hair, the picture of health and with a voice of thunder. He was rough, but hospitable, and after breakfast showed them his factory and the processes each cigar went through. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘Sir John, I have another sight to show you, which few men can boast of.’ Putting his fingers in his mouth, he blew a loud whistle, whereupon from every direction ran lots of happy, healthy-looking children of various dif
ferent colours. None of them appeared to be older than twelve or thirteen. ‘Ah, report says, and I believe it, they are every one of them my children. Count them,’ he said to Harry. He did; there were forty-one. Harry and his friends laughed merrily. Sir John Lambert, a highly moral and amiable soul, mildly put it, ‘A very large family indeed, Mr Woodville.’ That convulsed them again and the old patriarch joined in the laughter with, ‘Ah, the seed of Abraham would people the earth indeed, if every one of his descendants could show my family.’
After a pretty rough transatlantic crossing, Harry’s ship was nearing the mouth of the Bristol Channel when they encountered a merchantman sailing in the opposite direction, and shouted, ‘What news?’ as they passed. ‘No, none.’ Then, as the ship was pulling away, a voice shouted, ‘Bonaparte’s back on the throne of France.’ Harry’s reaction was to shout for joy and throw his hat in the air. ‘I will be a Lieutenant Colonel before the year is out!’ Lambert’s reaction was less enthusiastic and rather more measured. He found it difficult to believe but realized the merchantman’s captain was hardly likely to make up such a story. Anyway, when they arrived at Spithead, the bustle and activity made it quite clear that much was afoot. Lambert and Harry left for London but only got as far as Guildford, when Harry’s exasperation and impatience got the better of him and he asked Lambert if he could press on by himself. Lambert was reluctant but allowed him to go, with the proviso that Harry wrote to him, with his address, saying, darkly, that he would no doubt have need of him again very soon. So Harry and his orderly, West, sped on for London where the former just had time to get a few presents for his wife, saying to himself that, as he also had some Spanish books from Havana, he was not going to arrive home as empty handed as he had done after Corunna. ‘Naked and penniless’ was how he put it.
Galloping on with a coach-and-four, they reached the Falcon Inn, which still exists today in Whittlesey. Harry was in such a state of nervous excitement that he did not want to go straight to his father’s house, so instead sent for him to come to the inn, which he shortly did. They had passed the church and, it being a Sunday, Harry realized that Juana and his sisters would be attending the service, and that they customarily took a stroll after church. Word was then sent that Harry’s father wanted to see them. Unfortunately, the messenger who found them blurted out that there was a man with their father who he did not know, who had arrived post haste from London. Unsurprisingly, Juana immediately assumed this to be an officer bringing bad news of Harry’s death and fell into a swoon. However, all was unravelled and Juana, revived by his sisters, joyously fell into Harry’s arms – never again to be separated.