Catherine tried not to sound sarcastic as she responded, “That is good news indeed!”
They had reached her cottage. Corporal Madden turned to face the woman and smiled. “I now understand, gentle lady, why you would think that our men are a bit wild, but when it comes to this battle for your homeland, they’re here for you!”
“And we are grateful to them, Corporal Madden.” She smiled back at him. “I did not wish to offend you. We are very happy to have Yankee Doodle come to our town!”
Tarot: THE TOWER
Revelation: Danger; unforeseen catastrophe.
December 23, 1814
It was just after noon, two days before Christmas, and Hortense was quietly humming to herself as she polished Catherine’s silver. The house was quiet; Catherine and Scamp were at General Jackson’s headquarters on Rue Royal, and Miguel was at Place d’Armes, training with Major Pierre Lacoste’s battalion of free men of color.
Hortense refused to dwell on the city’s problems; instead, she was happily considering the ingredients she would need for preparing the Reveillon dinner. On Christmas Eve, the family would go to St. Louis Cathedral for midnight Mass and, because they had fasted, would return for a marvelous, table d’hôte feast. Hortense planned on making her famous turtle soup, followed by oysters, egg pudding, and a veal roast. A brioche and a fruit loaf would be served for dessert.
Hortense also looked forward to the weeklong festivities following Christmas. The New Year’s celebration meant putting gifts under the new-year tree. And in the coming years, once Suzanne’s child, sure to be bubbly and perhaps even boisterous, was born, the season would be even more high-spirited.
Hortense smiled to herself. She enjoyed the preparations, for, although she had relatives on some of the plantations, she considered this her home and Catherine, Miguel, Suzanne, and Scamp her family. Catherine was good to her, had subtly encouraged her to learn to read, taught her healing skills, and, as she had promised, emancipated her several years earlier. She was gratified to continue working as a paid servant for this benevolent woman.
A frenzied knocking on the back door interrupted her reverie.
Hmph! she thought, annoyed that someone was intruding upon her quiet afternoon. The knocking continued, turning into a louder pounding.
“All right, all right,” Hortense yelled, “I’m coming!”
When she opened the door, her eyes widened with astonishment. Her cousin and his wife, house slaves from the Villeré plantation, stood there, quite dirty and disheveled, and obviously exhausted.
“Andre! Claire! What are you doing here?”
Andre responded. “The plantation has been captured by the Redcoats, Hortense! It happened this morning, around ten thirty. They had Monsieur Villeré under guard.”
“We were in the kitchen house,” added Claire. “We were able to get away while the English were busy stealing the tableware and emptying the wine cellar.”
“Oh my goodness!” cried Hortense. “You must have been terrified!”
“At first, but it soon was clear that the Redcoats weren’t interested in the slaves; we have nothing worth stealing,” replied Claire.
“We saw Major Gabriel Villeré escape, too. He leaped through an open window, then jumped over a fence and ran across the fields, toward the cypress swamp,” added Andre. “Meanwhile, the English were running after him, and one of them was yelling out to ‘catch him or kill him!’”
“Oh!” said Hortense, wringing her hands. “This is dreadful news!”
“We don’t know what happened to Monsieur Villeré. I hope he got away!” said Andre.
“Well, what about your escape?” asked Hortense.
“We were walking here as fast as we could, when we met two soldiers, a Yankee and a Creole. They were on horses and were riding to our plantation,” said Andre.
“We stopped them and told them what we told you,” added Claire. “The Yankee soldier, he turned his horse right around and raced off toward the city.”
“The Creole gave us this gold piece,” said Andre, showing Hortense the coin. “He said that we’d done a great service for our country. Then he headed for the plantation!”
“You suppose he was going to fight all those English by himself?” asked Hortense.
“By the time he gets there, the British will probably be so drunk on free wine that he most likely could!” responded Andre.
“We didn’t know where else to go, Hortense! Do you think Madame Catherine will let us stay here for a while?” asked Claire.
“I suspect she’ll be happy to have your help,” replied Hortense. “But first we need to go to General Jackson’s headquarters and make sure that he knows about all this! Allons!”
Tarot: THE EIGHT OF PENTACLES
Revelation: A difficult career decision must be made.
Meanwhile, at Jackson’s Rue de Royal headquarters, the staff members were quietly exchanging news, studying maps, or writing letters home. It was one thirty, and, along with his early-afternoon meal of rice and ginger tea, Catherine gave the general a small amount of water, into which she had stirred a tablespoon full of powdered charcoal.
“Another dose, General,” she said, handing him the black liquid.
“Thank you, Madame Caresse. It seems to be helping my cramps.”
“I am happy to hear that, sir,” she said. “And when you finish your tea, I want you to relax, possibly take a nap.”
“Perhaps I can afford a nap right now,” said Jackson as he obligingly sipped Catherine’s concoction. He was just settling his angular body down on the sofa to get some rest, when Corporal Madden burst through the door, obviously with disturbing news.
Jackson immediately sat up, eyes wide open. Madden addressed the general.
“Three men to see you, sir. They say it’s urgent!”
“Well, show them in, Corporal!”
Major Gabriel Villeré was the first to enter, followed by Colonel Denis de Laronde and Major Howell Tatum. They were all quite shaken and mud-stained.
“General Jackson, sir!” Major Tatum saluted. “The British are less than seven miles away from New Orleans. Major Latour and I were appraising the bayous in the area, when we met a number of people fleeing toward the city.”
“They have taken over my father’s entire plantation!” said Villeré. “It happened just this morning. They captured me and then turned our home into their headquarters.”
Jackson didn’t say a word; he just stared at Major Villeré.
“Luckily,” the young man continued, “I was able to escape. I met with my neighbor Colonel de Laronde, and—”
“We rowed across the river and then came here by horse as quickly as possible!” finished de Laronde.
Catherine noticed the cuts and bruises Gabriel Villeré had on his legs, and briefly considered tending to them with a milk-and-bread poultice. She quickly changed her mind about treating the major’s wounds, though, as she saw General Jackson’s face blanch and then turn crimson, his body taut with alarm.
Focusing her attention solely on her patient, she admonished, “General! You need to relax!”
Jackson ignored her, leaped up from the sofa, and paced back and forth angrily. “Curses!”
Major Villeré looked down at the floor, obviously distressed. The general continued pacing. No one said a word. They were hoping that his legendary temper would dissipate somewhat as he considered the situation.
Finally, Jackson stopped and looked again at Tatum. “Where’s Major Latour?”
“Sir,” Tatum began, “Latour continued toward Villeré’s plantation to spy on the British.”
At this moment, Major Arsène Latour rushed in, saluted, and spoke. “Sir! I was able to get within two hundred yards of their camp. The Brits have made their headquarters at Villeré’s house, and between sixteen hundred and eighteen hundred men are bivouacked a mile north, at the boundary of the Lacoste plantation.”
Jackson nodded his head. “Good work, Major. Anything el
se?”
“I noted also that they appear to be extremely tired and hungry.”
The general looked at the other three men. “Tired and hungry. Good. We must stop them immediately; they cannot come any closer to the city.”
Again, no one spoke.
Thinking to himself for a couple of moments, the general narrowed his eyes, put his hands on his hips, and looked around at his hushed staff.
“All right, then,” he declared, his mouth twisted into a grimace. His staff stared back at him, wondering what exactly the general was thinking was “all right.”
A few more seconds passed in total silence. And then Andrew Jackson drew himself up to his full height, took a deep breath, and furiously pounded his fist on the table. “We will attack them tonight! Sound the alarm. Send for all of my aides. And God help us!”
He paused, reached over for the carafe, and poured himself, his staff members, and Major Villeré some brandy. Holding up his glass, he seemed to be infused with a new strength and vitality as he proclaimed, “By the eternal, they shall not sleep soundly on our soil!”
“Hurrah!” his staff agreed with fervor.
Catherine, too, believing in her general’s competence, obligingly gulped down her drink with gusto.
At that moment, the alarm cannon was fired, alerting the army and citizens that the enemy was near. Catherine’s household, Andrew Jackson, and the general’s staff were now not the only ones who knew about the British approach; all of New Orleans was on notice.
Tarot: THE NINE OF WANDS
Revelation: Preparedness to meet the challenge.
As his aides responded to the alarm, gathering about in keyed-up clusters, Jackson pushed the nervous young Major Villeré into a smaller chamber.
“And just how did the British manage to reach your plantation?” the general demanded, his arms akimbo.
Gabriel Villeré hesitated, then admitted, “They must have used Bayou Bienvenue, sir.”
“Blast it, man!” Jackson fumed at the Creole. “I ordered all the bayous to be obstructed! That included the one by your plantation! You will be court-martialed for this!”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I didn’t think . . .”
“No, you did not, Major!” and Jackson stormed out of the smaller room.
As additional men crowded into the headquarters, the tension grew more acute while Jackson quickly analyzed advice from his top aides and then spit out orders.
Jean Lafitte recommended an attack from the left bank of the river, opposite the British camp. His gunners would staff the schooner USS Carolina.
General Coffee suggested that local plantation owners guide his men through the swampy territory north of the LaCoste and Villeré plantations. There, his Tennesseans would attack the English from the right flank, driving the Redcoats toward the river and the Carolina’s cannon fire. Holding the center would be the free men of color, the city battalion, and, next to the river, the US Army artillery contingent and the Marines; they would all, at Jackson’s command, proceed south and west.
Meanwhile, Catherine was making her own plans. Her assistant, his face full of excitement, was dancing with anticipation.
She pulled him over to a corner by the doorway. “Scamp, I need you to settle down,” she said quietly. “Without attracting attention, I want you to hurry home and explain to Hortense what is happening. Ask her to keep an eye on Suzanne; her time is not too far away, and I don’t want my daughter to overdo it. Then give Hortense this list; it has some things she can pack that you and I will need when we accompany General Jackson.”
Catherine was just about to add, “Now, be careful”, but Scamp had already grabbed the list and darted out the door, sure that he was in for quite an adventure.
Tarot: THE SEVEN OF WANDS
Revelation: Boldness in the face of trouble.
It was almost five in the afternoon as Scamp was sprinting down Rue de Toulouse toward Rue de Rampart. He passed women tugging children, hastening to their homes, and armed males of all different dress proceeding to their rendezvous locations. General Coffee’s veterans were first to move through on their mounts. Then came the mix of forces. Major Jean Plauché’s militia, consisting of New Orleans lawyers, bankers, and merchants, in their vivid red, blue, and gold uniforms. Captain Pierre Jugeant’s Choctaws, in their buckskin leggings and hunting coats, their long, loose black hair, some with one or more feathers in a colored headband. General William Carrol’s Tennesseans, looking rough and wild, clothed similarly to the Choctaws in deerskins. Major Jean Daquin’s free men of color, marching in perfect order with pride. And Jean Lafitte’s Baratarians, sweeping by, looking ferocious. Not since the fall of the Roman Empire had the world seen an army like this one. White, black, brown, and red. Protestant, Catholic, and animist. Of a single purpose: to prevent the enemy from reaching the city.
About an hour after sunset, Jackson led his kaleidoscope of colors on a ten-mile march down the levee that ran along the Mississippi, toward the English encampment, the shadowy cypress swamp beyond the cane fields on their left, the Mississippi River, illuminated by a full moon, on their immediate right.
The trek past the sequence of plantations was under strict noise discipline. No talking. Orders were passed from man to man in whispers.
Along the way, women and children, waving white handkerchiefs from the windows and balconies of their houses, watched the silent army pass, aware that their husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers were marching into harm’s way.
From the gallery outside the second floor of her mansion, Marguerite watched nervously. She knew that Jacques was somewhere in the mass of men, and assured herself that he could see her and that only his duty prevented him from racing to her side. And then she thought she saw him and was sure he was looking at her, as he gave a small salute.
He really does love me, she thought.
A throbbing behind her eyes began.
You think so? responded an odious voice she recognized. Why?
I’m carrying his child. This time will be different!
You’ll lose this one, too. Face it, Marguerite—you’re worthless! You’re a failure!
The pounding inside her head worsened.
No! You’re wrong, ogre! Stop telling me that! My husband loves me!
Did he tell you so?
Well, no, not exactly with those words. But I know he does. He’s just very reserved. Always has been. A gentleman. And I understand that.
Ha! Jacques joined up with Jackson just to get away from you! The salute? That wasn’t for you. It was for his house, his servants, the things he really cares about.
He cares about me, about our unborn baby, and our family. You don’t know what you’re talking about!
She rubbed her temples, trying to get rid of the hammering sensation inside her skull.
You’re just a hollow shell, Madame de Trahan, no substance. You have his name, but really you’re a blight on his life. Like mold! An affliction! Why don’t you just do him a favor and go away? I can help you. For his sake, Marguerite! The voice was now wheedling.
No! No, I’m not going to listen to you! Go away, ogre! My love for Jacques will drown out whatever lies you have to say!
Marguerite shut her eyes tightly, put her hands on her ears, and shook her head back and forth. The throbbing stopped; the ogre was gone.
She felt someone embrace her. It was her mother. Sheila had also been watching the army pass, swishing her monogrammed lace handkerchief back and forth. She had noticed Marguerite’s odd behavior and assumed it was stress.
“There, there, Marguerite, dear,” she said, giving her another hug. Then, while massaging her daughter’s back, she added, “Jacques will be all right. Don’t fret! Do you need to sit down?”
Marguerite smiled weakly. “No, Mother. I just had a ghastly headache, but it’s gone now.”
After the troops had passed, Marguerite said, “Thank you, Mother. I guess I was so upset, I didn’t realize . . . well, anyway, thank y
ou.”
“Of course, dear. This is taxing for all of us, but, again, I’m sure Jacques will come back to us soon with a victory. Try not to worry.”
“Of course. I must leave now to go into the city. I just want to go over a few details with Sister Angelique. She’s the Ursuline sister in charge of preparing their convent’s classrooms for the wounded. Are you sure you’ll be all right by yourself?”
“I won’t be alone for long, dear,” answered Sheila. “The other plantation ladies will be joining me soon. Then we’re going to Claudia’s home to prepare bandages and blankets to be distributed.”
She reached down into her apron pocket and took out her scissors. “Plus, besides these,” she said, as she placed the shears on a banister, “I’ve also got this.” Sheila slipped her hand inside her skirts and brought out a dagger. “So don’t worry about me.”
Marguerite laughed. “Good for you, Mother! Those Redcoats have no idea what danger they’re facing!”
“True! All of the ladies will be similarly armed, so why don’t you join us after you see Sister Angelique? You could stay at Claudia’s; she has plenty of room. It would be safer than coming back here, especially in your condition.”
“That’s exactly what I planned on doing, Mother. Claudia is expecting me.”
“Good. Be careful, my dear, and I will see you later.”
Marguerite hugged Sheila, picked up her travel bag, and, tried to look as plucky as her mother sounded. Then she began her journey west in her carriage after her husband and the rest of the army marched east.
Tarot: THE NINE OF SWORDS
Revelation: A period of doubt and worry.
As he marched by his own plantation buildings, Jacques turned his attention away from his family to the circumstances at hand. Questions clamored in his mind: Would he ever see his loved ones again? Would they take the English by surprise, or were they marching into a trap? Yes, the parade two weeks earlier on the Place d’Armes had given the citizens more confidence—Jackson now had about 2,100 men—but Jacques was a bit concerned about the quality of the local volunteers marching with him. Besides local plantation owners, bankers, lawyers, and merchants, he also knew that some of them were actually prisoners who had been awaiting trial, along with released criminals who had served most of their sentences. Could these untried citizen participants show the same bravado against soldiers who had defeated Napoleon’s armies in Spain?
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