Land of the Free

by Jeffry Hepple

  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.

  “You should find yourself another mount,” Lafitte chuckled.

  “This one isn’t mine,” Yank said. “He’s to be tonight’s supper and I was granting him his last wish.” He dismounted and held fast to the reins.

  “I found Mrs. Van Buskirk.”

  “What about the tools you were supposed to find?”

  “I found them too.” He pointed to a hay wagon, laden with men and tools that was just crossing the levee.

  The Louisiana let go a 24-pounder and Yank let go of the horse’s reins, then drew his pistol and fired into the air.

  Lafitte chuckled as the horse bolted toward the British lines. “I thought you were going to shoot him.”

  “I intended to but since you mentioned my wife I had second thoughts. I once shot an alligator and she never forgave me.”

  Lafitte slipped off his horse. “Where do you want these men?”

  Yank pointed. “That little sergeant can place them. We’re going to drive fence posts along the bank and pile dirt against them to build a wall.”

  Lafitte waved at the wagon then used elaborate hand signals to direct the driver.

  “Now that’s a handy skill,” Yank said admiringly.

  “Much more efficient than flags when ships are close enough to use them.” Lafitte took a brass telescope from inside his coat and extended it toward the British. “They’ve grown since I left.”

  “They’ve doubled their strength.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “Not so bad. We can move General Carroll and Pierre Lacoste’s battalion up to maintain parity.”

  “General Pakenham arrived from Cuba last night,” Lafitte said. “There’s talk in town that General Keane is to be relieved by him.”

  “That’s not unusual. He’s the overall commander. Did this talk you mentioned say when Pakenham might take command?”

  “Perhaps as soon as tomorrow.

  “Good. Keane won’t be anxious to do anything until he’s relieved and it will take Pakenham a few days to get oriented.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Pakenham? No. I do know that he’s Wellington’s brother-in-law, but that could mean nothing. Did you hear who Pakenham’s second in command will be?”

  “Sir Samuel Gibbs, but Keane will remain as a brigade commander.”

  “What else did you hear?”

  “Besides what your wife told me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I heard that British are in desperate need of pack animals.”

  “Damn. I should have shot that horse.”

  “From what I saw of him we want him there, causing trouble.”

  Yank took a deep breath. “Okay, Lafitte, what did she say?”

  “She says that she wishes to see you.”

  Yank laughed dryly. “Did you remind her that there’s a war going on and that I’m in the middle of it?”

  “Yes I did. In almost those exact words. I said: Are you aware, madam, that there is a war going on and your husband is in the middle of it? To this she answered: Yes.”

  Yank laughed. “How did she look?”

  “If I were to answer you honestly you would challenge me to a duel and I would choose pistols.”

  The Carolina fired, followed immediately by the Louisiana and Yank turned back toward the enemy. “They’re testing our range.”

  “Then your theory that Keane will not advance is wrong.”

  “I think I said he wouldn’t be anxious to advance. That isn’t to say that he’ll stop looking for an easy way to kill us.”

  “Do you subscribe to General Jackson’s concerns about a secondary attack directly on New Orleans?” Lafitte asked.

  “With each boatload of reinforcements and materiel that arrives here, I’m less concerned about that. In fact I think it would be safe by now to say that there are too many British troops committed to this battlefield for them to risk a second front.”

  “They would have been wiser to do exactly what General Jackson fears they will do.”

  “Yes. But they’re British, don’t you see?” Yank said in a bad aristocratic English accent.

  Lafitte shook his head. “No. I don’t see.”

  “They’re arrogant bastards,” Yank answered. “They can’t turn their backs on a fight with a bunch of farmers led by an ill-bred bumpkin. That’s why we’re going to defeat them.”

  December 27, 1814

  Rodriguez Canal, Louisiana

  On Christmas Day, General the Honorable Sir Edward Michael Pakenham took command of the British forces. The British celebrated and the Americans continued to build their mud wall.

  On December 26th, the Americans watched as the British struggled to haul heavy guns to their position.

  “What in the name of God are they doin’?” Jackson asked. He gave the telescope to Yank.

  Yank focused on the activity, trying to see through the screen of trees.

  “It’s some kind of fire,” Jackson said.

  “Yes.”

  “I could see a glow but I couldn’t make it out.”

  Yank lowered the telescope and bellowed toward the campfire. “Lieutenant McCoy?”

  “Sir?” The aide leaped to his feet.

  “Urgent to Commanders Carolina and Louisiana,” he shouted. “Pull back. I say again, pull back. The British are heating shot. Fast as you can, man.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young Tennessean had his horse running before he was in the saddle.

  Jackson was watching the glow in the trees with a horrified look on his face. “We should have anticipated this.”

  “I couldn’t have, General,” Yank replied. “That they could have built a hot shot furnace over there is hard to believe. That they could haul howitzers and mortars through the swamp is impossible.”

  “Yet they surely have done it.”

  “They didn’t get their reputation as the best army in the world illegitimately.” Yank watched Jackson’s aide run his horse through the trees toward the Louisiana. “Good lad.”

  “What’s that?” Jackson asked.

  “I gave your aide a bad order. I said ‘Carolina and Louisiana’. But the boy was smart enough to tell Louisiana first. Telling Carolina first with Louisiana in her way would have wasted precious minutes.”

  “Remind me to promote him.”

  “Yes, sir. I will, if the British c
anister fire doesn’t shred him.”

  The two men cringed as the British batteries opened fire.

  The crew of the Louisiana was already in the process of hauling their ship out of range, but Jackson’s aide had just hailed the Carolina’s lookout when the first, red hot cannonball tore through the ship’s rigging.

  Jackson had his telescope back up to his eye and was watching Carolina as the British cannonade continued to rain hot iron onto her and into her. “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s abandoning ship,” Yank answered. “She must be afire below decks.”

  “Why are they pushing the cannons overboard?”

  “To protect them from destruction so we can recover them later.”

  Jackson was about to ask something else when the deck of Carolina seemed to ignite. “Sweet Jesus.”

  “Tar and pine pitch are lovely accelerants. Her magazine will blow any time now. You may want to hold your horse tight.”

  The ship suddenly vanished in a flash of light, the heat reached them next like a blow, then the sound was heard all the way to New Orleans.

  Yank waited until his ears stopped ringing and the British soldiers stopped cheering before speaking to Jackson. “Pakenham will be coming tonight. I’ll pass the word.”

  “Very well.” Jackson turned in his saddle toward Yank. “Tell the outposts to place charges in Chalmette’s buildings. They’ll block our field of fire.”

  “Do you want them blown now or tonight when they pull back?”

  “Tonight. But make sure the commanders understand the importance. I’d rather have them pull back early than leave those buildings standing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ~

  The British struck soon after dark and drove the American outposts back so easily that, even though they blew up the buildings of Chalmette’s plantation, Pakenham suspected a trap and held back.

  December 28, 1814

  Rodriguez Canal, Louisiana

  When the dawn mist cleared, Pakenham’s artillery was within range of the American lines. He sent his troops forward in two columns with skirmishers between them.

  Jackson, Yank and Lafitte were standing together when the first artillery rounds whistled over their heads. The McCarty plantation house, which served as Jackson’s headquarters, was immediately struck by several shots.

  “Do you suppose they think I’m there or are they just lousy shots?” Jackson asked.

  “Twenty-three,” Lafitte said.

  “What’s that?” Jackson turned toward him.

  “I count twenty-three cannons,” Lafitte replied.

  “Well, Captain? Take them out,” Jackson said.

  Lafitte swept off his hat, bowed deeply and then raced away toward the nearest makeshift gun platform which held one of Carolina’s salvaged guns, manned by one of Lafitte’s gun crews.

  “I cannot decide if I like or hate that man,” Jackson said.

  Yank was watching the British guns. “I’ll tell you what I think in a few seconds.”

  The first American cannon fired.

  Jackson heard the cheers along his line and grinned at Yank. “I suppose I like him. First shot, dead on target. Gunners don’t get any better than that.”

  Yank’s reply was drowned out by the nearly simultaneous reports of all the American guns. A moment later, the Louisiana joined the cannonade and the earth trembled.

  The British gunners were indeed very poor and the few rounds that they managed to slam into the unfinished American breastworks did no damage.

  The American gunners, on the other hand, were deadly in their accuracy and in very short time, the British infantry on the river side broke and ran.

  As the lopsided artillery duel continued, General Carroll sent Colonel Hutchinson with a detachment along the swamp to confront the remaining British column. As they reached musket range, Hutchinson raised his sword and was shot out of his saddle. Seeing him fall, his troops faltered and then withdrew in confusion leaving the American left open.

  While witnessing the increasing destruction of his cannons but failing to see his victory at the swamp and disheartened by the shameful retreat of his river column, Pakenham, to the great consternation of his officers, ordered a general retreat.

  January 1, 1815

  Rodriguez Canal, Louisiana

  The sun rose over the river, turning the dense fog to moving shades of pink, red and orange. Yank was seated at his desk in the McCarty plantation house while a military band played outside his window. He looked out at the soldiers who were preparing to parade in their best uniforms and saw a coach beyond them unloading men, women and children who would be attending today’s New Year celebration. He was about to look away when a woman with long black hair stepped gracefully from the coach and started toward the house. “Damn.” He stood up, found his hat, and walked out to meet her.

  Marina saw Yank come out of the house but pretended that she didn’t and turned toward the breastworks where Dominique You was overseeing the installation of cotton bales at a gun position. “Good morning, Dom,” she called, raising her hand.

  He turned toward her, smiled broadly, waved and then saw Yank coming toward them and immediately became very busy.

  Marina gave up the pretense and turned to wait for her husband.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he said with no preamble. “Get back on that coach right now.”

  “That’s a fine greeting after nearly two years.”

  He took her arm and began walking her toward the assembling spectators. “Of all the stupid, lame-brained ideas. You of all people should know how dangerous this is.”

  He was walking so fast that Marina was forced to trot or to be dragged. “If it’s so dangerous, why are you doing it?”

  “I’m not. Over my most vigorous protests, Governor Claiborne convinced General Jackson that this was necessary to pacify the public.”

  She managed to pull free then darted away when he reached for her again. “Public pacification wouldn’t be necessary if your General Jackson wasn’t so heavy handed. Private homes have been searched without due process and private weapons and ammunition have been confiscated. Men have been put into prison for refusal to serve the army. It’s a disgrace.”

  Yank’s answer was cut off by an earth-shattering explosion and a shower of rockets. He tackled Marina and covered her with his body as a barrage of cannonballs crashed through the walls and roof of the McCarty house.

  “Get off me,” Marina complained, pushing against his chest.

  Yank rolled to his feet, scooped her up and lumbered toward the breastworks along with a hundred other uniformed men. When they reached the mud wall, Yank dropped her unceremoniously, pointed his finger at her and shouted, “Stay right there on that spot. If you move, I’ll shoot you in the leg.” He raced off toward the center where Jackson and Coffee had just arrived.

  Marina flinched as Dominique You’s cannon fired from her right and another from her left. Back toward the house, she could see civilians and soldiers running in all directions. The band had abandoned their instruments but seemed to have no idea where they should go. The noise was deafening. The plantation house was still being struck but it was standing.

  “You’re to come with me, Ma’am,” a young ensign said, offering her his hand.

  “Where?”

  “I’m under orders to knock you out if you resist, Ma’am. I’ve never hit a woman. Don’t make me, please.”

  She reached up, took his hand and let him pull her up to her feet. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To a bunker just over here.” He led her by the hand to a rectangular hole that contained a cotton bale which seemed to be floating in muddy water. “Jump down there, Ma’am. Then keep to this side. It isn’t a hundred percent safe, but it’s the best we can do.”

  “I’m not jumping down there,” she said indignantly.

  “If I have to throw you in you’re likely to end up in the water and it’s danged cold.”

/>   She looked at him then stepped to the edge and jumped down onto the cotton bale. The noise in the hole was muffled a bit but if she looked up, Marina could still see ordinance streaming overhead.

  “Howdy, Ma’am.” A very young face appeared over the edge of the hole. “You doin’ okay down there?”

  “Okay?” She chuckled. “Let me guess. You’re from Tennessee.”

  “Right you are, Ma’am.”

  “What happened to the ensign that dumped me here?”

  “He’s back on the line now and I’m here.”

  “Did you come to help me out of this hole or to keep me company?”

  “Neither one, Ma’am. I come to shoot anybody that tries to harm you.”

  “I see,” she said. Then she shook her head. “No. I don’t see. How are you, one boy, going to protect me from the entire British army?”

  “Oh I ain’t gonna fight the whole British army, Ma’am. Just any that manages to come around our weak side, yonder.” He gestured toward the swamp.

  “That’s fine if they come one at a time.”

  “I got ten loaded rifles, four pistols, plenty o’ powder and bullets. If our boys lets more than fourteen around, we’re all goners anyhow.”

  “What if you miss?”

  “Oh I never do that, Ma’am.”

  “Never?”

  “Never. I’m what they calls a sharpshooter. I can hit a squirrel in the eye at three hundred yards.”

  “That must be a useful skill,” she said sarcastically.

  “It is,” he agreed. “When all you got to eat is that squirrel, spoilin’ any meat ain’t good.”

  “If you’re so good, why are they wasting you back here? You should be up there on the line shooting at the British.”

  “General Jackson don’t want me on the line, Ma’am. He says I’m too valuable. I go out at night by myself, mostly.”

  “At night? What for?”

  “Oh I shoot a few o’ the sentries and then some officers that’s standin’ around a fire. Makes them Englishmen plumb nervous.”