The “good doctor” grunted.
“Again, Madame Caresse, welcome to my headquarters.” And Andrew Jackson, with a grin on his face, strode out the door, into the other room.
Catherine looked at Dr. Morell. He looked at her. Silence. Finally, the physician shrugged his shoulders in resignation.
“All right, Madame Caresse. Whatever it takes to make General Jackson well again. He doesn’t complain, but you can see that it’s taking its toll on his body. He’s lost weight, and although he’s fatigued, he seldom sleeps. Instead, he’s quite restless and keeps going by sheer willpower and a lot of stubbornness.”
“Yes, that’s obvious.” Then she smiled, attempting to placate the doctor. “But I’m certain that if we both stress the bland diet you prescribed, increase his fluid intake, and try to persuade him to rest, our efforts will be successful.”
Dr. Morell’s reaction startled her—he was actually giggling!
“I beg your pardon, Madame Caresse, but the notion of General Jackson sitting in three inches of cold water for five minutes is most preposterous!”
She laughed, too. “Yes, I guess that was too much to ask for. But he would find it soothing!”
Catherine called out to her young servant, hovering in the corner. Scamp jumped up and ran over, eager to become involved.
“All right, Scamp,” she said. “You are to take care of General Jackson’s waste. No one else is to use the same chamber pot. Ask the soldiers where the latrine pit is and dump it there. Don’t just throw it out the window! Then I want you to scrub it thoroughly each time, with soap and hot water.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “Oui, madame,” he said.
“Also, I want you to notice if the contents of the pot change. Pay attention to the color and smell, and whether there is any blood in the stools. You are to tell Dr. Morell or me if the feces are different. Do you have any questions?”
Scamp had wrinkled his nose as she was giving the directions, but he shook his head negatively.
“No, madame. Just like I did for Messieurs Dubois and Fournier. They had dysentery, too!”
“Good.” She smiled and patted him on the head. “Make sure you wash your hands thoroughly with soap and water afterward. Now, stay out of everyone’s way, but keep me informed!”
After Scamp darted out of the room, Dr. Morell cleared his throat. “I’m curious, Madame Caresse . . .”
“Yes?” Her eyebrows rose.
“Regarding your concern about matters of cleanliness,” he said—rather politely, she thought.
“Midwives are trained to clean their hands and their instruments thoroughly before birthing a baby,” Catherine informed him. “That is my standard procedure when treating other patients as well.”
The physician nodded, so Catherine continued. “I also heard from one of my clients that Napoleon, too, was fastidious when it came to his own hygiene and demanded that French hospitals keep the patients neat, warm, and clean. The patients seemed to do well.”
“Why, yes,” exclaimed Dr. Morell. “Our army’s surgeon general, Dr. James Tilton, was very impressed by the French system and most appalled by the lack of cleanliness in our American hospitals.”
“Well,” said Catherine, “good sanitation obviously eliminates some filth and odors, so I can’t see how it hurts.”
“Interesting,” replied Dr. Morell, almost grudgingly. “I do apologize, Madame Caresse, for having doubted your abilities, and I look forward to working with you to improve the general’s health.”
Tarot: THE FIVE OF SWORDS
Revelation: A threat is possible.
December 12, 1814
Andrew Jackson expected the British to strike New Orleans by marching overland from Lake Pontchartrain, to the north, up the river from the gulf, or to Lake Borgne, just southeast of Lake Pontchartrain.
The lake approaches did not seem likely, though. First, the entire British army would have to be rowed in small boats across the miles of hazardous open water, as the lakes were only six to twelve feet deep and filled with sand bars—impossible for the English fleet, with its heavy cannon. Then they would have to be further transported to the city through bayous, streams, and canals.
Nonetheless, Naval Lieutenant Thomas ap Catesby Jones, who commanded two hundred seamen in five small gunboats, was assigned to guard the entrance to Lake Borgne and report on any sightings of the British. Jackson also ordered that all of the marshy outlets that connected the lake with the city be blocked with felled trees.
It was with some surprise then, that Naval Lieutenant Jones’s flotilla spotted the fleet of British warships on December 12. Word was sent to Jackson that the British fleet had appeared. Jones was ordered to observe their movements from a safe distance. For two days, the Americans watched as the British armada passed the Chandeleur Islands, as well as the Dog and Ship Islands, and finally anchored near the mouth of Lake Borgne.
General Jackson, however, was not concerned; he suspected it was merely a ruse. He still concentrated his meager forces in approaches from the north and east.
Tarot: THE EIGHT OF WANDS
Revelation: Hope, love, and action.
Millie had never been invited to someone’s home. Yet Madame Bonet had urged that they meet at her cottage. Perhaps it was because she was pregnant and therefore it was easier than traveling to the convent, but still! And Madame Bonet—Suzanne—also insisted that they be on a first-name basis. Like friends! Millie had never really had a friend. . . .
Walking along, Millie took great pleasure in observing and savoring the neighborhood’s details. Rue de Rampart was lined with wood and stucco cottages, richly painted in maroons, greens, royal blue, and mustard yellows.
She walked up the steps and onto the porch. The overhang not only sheltered her from the slight mist but also made her feel insulated from her usual world. She hesitated at the entry door and then knocked lightly, worried that it would not be answered.
The door swung open, and Suzanne greeted her with a big smile. “Hello, Millie! I’m so glad you could come. Let’s sit in the dining room. My servant Hazel is getting us some refreshments.”
Millie suddenly felt shy—a unique experience for her. She held out a bouquet of anise and lavender. “These are for you, Suzanne. They help to combat the bugs. Not that you have any, of course!” She flushed with embarrassment.
Suzanne laughed. “We all have bugs, Millie! What with keeping the front and back galleries open for cross-ventilation, there’s no way around it. At least there aren’t so many in December as in the summer!”
She held the flower bunch up to her nose. “I love their perfume! I’ll have Hazel scatter these around the house. Thank you so much!”
Millie was noticing the home’s layout. It had two equal-size rooms in the front and two in the back. The front and back shutters were unfastened, their openings providing cool breezes throughout the house.
How different from Millie’s stifling space in her mother’s “house.” The first item one noticed when entering Millie’s room was the bed, opposite the doorway. There was a window over the bed, but she couldn’t open it, because of inside bars that prevented anyone’s entering or leaving. A tub was by the small fireplace on another side of the little room, along with a small table and two chairs. The fourth wall held a large mirror. That was also where she placed her trunk, which held her clothing, linens, and utensils. The accommodations were just large enough for eating, sleeping, bathing, and, of course, business. No, Millie thought, she would never be able to reciprocate with an invitation to her abode.
Millie’s thoughts returned to the present as Suzanne led her toward the back of the house, saying, “And we do grow the citrus trees and roses outside in the back to help overpower the odor on the street, but the insects are constant. My maman believes that they can actually make you sick. She’s quite rigorous about keeping everything clean.”
Now in the dining room, Millie noticed a cookpot hanging over charcoal in the fireplace.
“Mmm. Something smells delicious,” said Millie.
“It’s my version of jambalaya. Hazel and I made it out back in the kitchen. I’m just keeping it warm now. My husband, René, loves it. So do I, of course. I’m taking some over to my maman’s after our meeting. Would you like some to take home with you?”
Millie was flabbergasted. “Why, I-I-I . . . ,” she stuttered.
“It’s settled, then. I’ll have Hazel put some into a small pot for you.”
“Well, thank you,” Millie said. “That’s very generous of you.”
“I should be thanking you!” answered Suzanne. “You are so brave to be going to the battlefield! I admire you so much.”
“Well, I just want to help. And, honestly, there isn’t much else I can do!” said Millie.
“We’re all doing what we can, Millie.”
Hazel entered the dining room with a tray of cookies and a pot of coffee. Suzanne waited until the servant left.
“Maman’s upset because I’m organizing the scheduling. She’s afraid that it will be too strenuous at this time.” Suzanne patted the slight bulge around her waistline.
“When is the baby due?” asked Millie.
“I have another couple of months to go, and I’m healthy as a . . .”
“Mule?” suggested Millie. Then she laughed. “Sorry, that just popped into my head. I just met the mule that I’ll be driving to the battlefield. Her name is Bella, and she’s in extremely good shape.”
Suzanne laughed, too. “All right, mule it is—although I don’t think mules can get pregnant. Anyway, I have lots of energy and a good head for planning. Plus, in my own way, I’ll be doing as much as I can to keep my René safe.”
“It sounds like you love him very much,” said Millie.
“Yes, I do. I never knew anyone like him; he’s opened up a whole new world to me. Do you have anyone special in your life?”
“I believe I do, Suzanne,” Millie said, thinking of Peter. “And he’s done the same for me: opened up a new world, a fresh way of thinking. Oh, my!”
“You’re blushing, Millie,” said Suzanne. “You must tell me about him the next time we meet. But right now we need to get down to this all-important venture of ours.”
She drew some papers toward her; they were neatly organized, showing columns and rows. Some listed names, shifts, duties, and places, while others had inventories for equipment and medical supplies to be recorded.
“It’s just a guideline for now,” said Suzanne, “easy to change if necessary. But it’s a start. And here’s your section—what to fill in, where to go, et cetera. Does it make sense to you?”
“Yes, this looks very thorough to me,” said Millie, studying the list. “You do have a good head for details.”
“I enjoyed organizing it—it helps to make the time go more quickly until my husband comes home. So, you think this will work?”
“Yes, thanks to your organizational skills, Bella and I will be ready to help win this battle.”
“Good! It’s too bad that René isn’t home right now, so I can’t introduce you to him yet. But let’s go over to my mother’s house with the jambalaya. You’ll meet Miguel, her husband. Unfortunately, Mother is not home now, either; she’s actually at General Jackson’s headquarters.”
“Oh, my! Why?”
“My maman has very special nursing skills. She’s a midwife, and she also knows a lot about the curing properties of herbs. She makes medicines to heal many different ailments.” She continued, “General Jackson has a recurring case of dysentery, and my mother was summoned to restore his health.”
“Do you have those same doctoring skills?” asked Millie.
“No, I help her sometimes, but haven’t inherited her particular gifts. We are alike in many other ways: we’re both organized, good listeners, and, I have to add, stubborn!”
“You are fortunate to have such a wonderful mother, Suzanne.” Millie smiled wistfully.
But, not wanting Suzanne to pity her or, even worse, ask about her own maternal line, Millie threw back her shoulders and managed a look of determination. “Well, we had better win this war, then, before your baby shows up!” she said.
“Absolutely. The sooner, the better, because René and I have so many other things planned!”
Suzanne gathered up her papers and handed Millie her duties. Just then, her servant came in bearing two containers. “Ah! Here’s Hazel with the jambalaya. Let’s go!”
Tarot: THE SEVEN OF SWORDS
Revelation: Precarious effort; partial success.
December 14, 1814
The safe distance General Jackson had prescribed wasn’t safe enough, for, unfortunately, the British had also detected the presence of the American gunboats.
Through his spyglass, Lieutenant Jones could see a squadron of almost fifty barges entering Lake Borgne. As the British rowed closer, the Americans noted small cannons mounted on the bow of each barge. The Americans also became aware that these barges were filled with heavily armed British seamen and were heading directly toward them.
Ideally, Jones would move his flotilla westward into the lake and then north, drawing the enemy into the Rigolets, a shallow strait that connected Lake Borgne to Lake Pontchartrain. There, the guns of Fort Petite Coquille could support them. But Lieutenant Jones’s boats were dependent on wind. There wasn’t any. Not even tossing unnecessary items overboard helped their situation. His dismayed seamen watched as the British barges continued rowing straight at them.
The Americans courageously did their best against enormous odds. But after two hours of artillery fire, cannon smoke, barges smashing into gunboats, and hand-to-hand combat, the battle ended with the American gunboats captured or destroyed, ten men killed, thirty-five wounded, and most of the others taken prisoner.
Rather than trying to negotiate the zigzag channel of the Mississippi, the British had gained a shorter, direct route to New Orleans. The answer to where the British had planned the location of the invasion was obvious. Now, the question was when.
But Lieutenant Thomas ap Catesby Jones had delayed them.
Tarot: THE KNIGHT OF WANDS
Revelation: Conflict and departure.
December 16, 1814
Corporal Madden arrived to escort Catherine to Jackson’s headquarters. As usual, she was ready, and she immediately began plying him with questions.
“Is it true?” she asked, as she grabbed her medicine bag. “The British have landed and are soon going to march on New Orleans? The whole city is in shock!”
“Yes, they’ve landed. But General Jackson has everything under control,” he assured her. “However, right now we have new circumstances for you.”
“Oh?”
“Dr. Morell and a navy purser have gone to the British fleet. Their mission was to care for the wounds of American captives from the gunboat battle. We have just received word that our injured are being treated well but the British will not allow the doctor to return. He himself is being held prisoner on the HMS Gorgon.”
“Oh, poor Dr. Morell. I’m so sorry! So . . .”
“What that means, Madame Caresse, is that we’re depending upon you to cure the general.”
Tarot: THE TWO OF PENTACLES
Revelation: Risk taking and stamina may lead to rewards.
December 18, 1814
Two men traveled across Lake Borgne and arrived at a fishermen’s village located at the mouth of Bayou Bienvenue. They were Lieutenant John Peddie and Captain Robert Spencer, officers of the British army and navy, respectively. These men typically wore red, which would have attracted negative attention from anyone sympathetic to the American cause. Now, however, thanks to obliging Spanish fishermen, they dressed in the regional attire of blue shirts and dark, coarse canvas trousers.
The British spies negotiated with a couple of the fishermen to guide them to a plantation along the edge of the Mississippi. Their mission: to plan the best clandestine approach inland for two thousand troops t
o move from their ships, now anchored at Pea Island in Lake Borgne. Their goal: to establish a base camp and prepare for a quick surprise invasion and seizure of the city of New Orleans.
“What do you think?” asked Peddie quietly, as they floated in the pirogue down Bayou Bienvenue. “It’s pretty shallow here, I’d say maybe only six feet deep and one hundred yards wide. Do you think we can move our men through this bayou?”
“It’s not ideal,” answered Spencer. “I’m not liking the dankness of the swamp.”
“And don’t forget all the wildlife,” added Peddie, as another alligator lying on a log slowly turned its head to observe the pirogue gliding by. “But the bayou is navigable and this eastern route is not protected. According to our guides, all the other bayous have felled trees blocking any approaches.”
“Yes,” said Spencer, brushing a spider off his shoulder. “The Americans probably expect us to attack them by land from the north. But I think General Keane will agree that this unobstructed bayou is the best way to go.”
The Spanish fishermen continued rowing the British scouts most of the way down Bayou Bienvenue and then punted with long poles through the much shallower Bayou Mazant. They reached the canal of the Villeré plantation, less than ten miles below New Orleans. The Englishmen noted the firm footing afforded by the roads running along the canal’s banks.
“This is ideal for us,” said Peddie. “The levee protects the area from the river. We can ferry the troops across Lake Borgne to the mouth of Bayou Bienvenue—that’s about thirty miles—and then they can row another six miles to Bayou Mazant.”
“You’re right,” agreed Spencer. “Once they reach the path onshore, though, that will take them to the Mississippi, and then it’s onward to New Orleans.”
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