The Cards Don't Lie

by Sue Ingalls Finan

  Tarot: THE FIVE OF SWORDS

  Revelation: Facing one’s own limits and

  backing off before moving forward.

  After a twenty-minute hike, General Coffee’s officers called a halt to prevent stumbling into the English before the scouts reported back with their exact location. Almost instantly, Nakni appeared out of the gloom. The scouts reported that about thirty Redcoats were fifty yards ahead. Positioned four or five yards apart, the English were facing west.

  They were told there was to be no gunfire; the Redcoats were to be taken prisoner. If necessary, tomahawks and rifle butts were to be used to dispatch uncooperative English.

  Nakni and the Choctaws led the Tennessee volunteers silently to the rear of the English picket line. The individual sentries were not aware of the Americans’ presence until they felt rifle muzzles pressed against their spines. This rude greeting was accompanied by a whispered order to ground their muskets and take three paces forward. The sound of their captors’ rifles being cocked ended any hesitation or thoughts of a heroic response.

  Quickly, Jacques and thirty other men were assigned to escort the captured English and their weapons back to the American army’s rear, at the Laronde plantation. The balance of the covering party again remained in place while the Choctaw scouts jogged into the darkness to locate the remaining English outpost. Behind them, they could hear the main body of General Coffee’s force closing in on the English camp. The thunderous volleys of the English muskets and the roar of the Carolina’s cannons periodically drowned out the Americans’ scattered rifle shots. The distant fireworks were a sharp contrast with their own small and mostly bloodless victory.

  Nakni and the other scouts finally returned, only to report that the second English picket outpost was no longer in their former location and had apparently withdrawn to the main English battle line. With that information, the remaining troops of the covering force proceeded toward the river to rejoin General Coffee.

  The blanket of fog moving inland from the river had obscured the light from the full moon, causing General Coffee’s main force to become intermingled with the enemy. Using the flashes of the Carolina’s cannons, elements of the Tennessee volunteers had penetrated to the buildings of the LaCoste plantation. Others were firing from the fields directly northeast of the Carolina, picking off the English silhouetted by the cannon blasts.

  As the two sides mingled in the fog, hand-to-hand fighting ensued. The English brandished bayonets and swords, while the Americans wielded rifle butts and tomahawks. Although a bayonet or sword gave the English extended reach, a Tennessee backwoodsman and a Choctaw could throw a tomahawk or a hunting knife up to ten feet with deadly accuracy.

  The battle became a multitude of skirmishes between small groups and even individual soldiers. In the fog and confusion, misidentification occurred and friend unknowingly attacked friend.

  Meanwhile, English reinforcements were arriving at the battle from their beachhead on Lake Borgne. These light infantry soldiers of the 85th Regiment moved quickly to the sound of the fighting around the Lacoste plantation. There, they joined the smoke and fog–shrouded clashes hoping that they were attacking Americans.

  The Tennessee volunteers had been engaged for almost two hours when a courier brought General Coffee the news that the west end of their battle line had made contact with the New Orleans militia. That meant that the English force was enclosed in a U shape, with Americans on their west and north and the river on their southwest. This intelligence reinforced Coffee’s supposition that the English were being driven east, toward the Villeré plantation. He took comfort in the strategy of General Jackson, who was presently giving the famed English army hell from three directions.

  Coffee sent the courier to find General Jackson and report that the English were withdrawing from his front. However, he was concerned that his men would not be sure of their targets in the fog and might soon run out of powder and shot.

  Within half an hour, the courier returned with a dispatch from General Jackson ordering Coffee to slowly disengage his troops from contact with the enemy and withdraw to their original position at the east end of the Laronde plantation, adjacent to the swamp.

  Tarot: THE SEVEN OF CUPS

  Revelation: Emotional situation; necessary action.

  All this time, Peter and his shipmates on the Carolina kept up their bombardment of the English camp, occasionally changing position by playing out and drawing in the anchor chain.

  Another good strike, Peter cheered to himself. And that’s too bad. I guess.

  What? “Too bad”? Where did that come from? And then he realized he was feeling slightly guilty for the punishment being inflicted on his former countrymen.

  Aye, I really am sorry about that, mates—although I’m glad that your muskets have no effect at all on this schooner’s thick oak gunwales!

  His internal monologue continued, But it’s just you enlisted men I feel bad about, because you were coerced, just like I was. You had to choose between taking the King’s shilling and starvation!

  On the other hand . . .

  He recalled those responsible for the deprivations and misery in the Royal Navy.

  I hope we kill every one of your arrogant upper-class officers. I have no remorse for maiming those bastards!

  Peter remembered having begun the journey down the river; he had vowed death over surrender. As he would not be able to conceal his accent, capture would mean hanging or an intolerable life in the English military. Neither was acceptable.

  No—no guilt at all.

  Tarot: TEN OF SWORDS

  Revelation: Sudden misfortune; pain.

  When the firing slackened on Coffee’s battle front, Jackson then started the withdrawal of his main force to the Laronde plantation. First to be withdrawn were the cannons with their Marine escort, followed by the two regular army regiments. Major Plauché’s and Major Daquin’s battalions took up the back of the column as rear guards.

  René again felt relief as his unit spread out, facing the English lines. On command, every other man, including those on both sides of René, did an about-face, moved twenty paces to the rear, halted, and did a second about-face. René and the other soldiers, holding the original position, performed the same maneuver, except they moved forty steps, passing their comrades who had previously withdrawn.

  His anxiety lessened, René executed the maneuver by rote: moving the paces, halting, turning, estimating the five-minute wait.

  As both battalions moved to the rear, they stumbled over abandoned weapons, discarded knapsacks, and casualties of friend and foe. Between pausing to assist their own wounded and collecting usable weapons and other valuables from the dead, the lines of each battalion became disorganized and intermingled.

  Easy enough to maintain contact in the daylight. However, now that fog and gunsmoke hid the moon, René was not surprised when a figure appeared before him; he assumed it was another member of Plauché’s battalion.

  Approaching his comrade, he said, “C’est une bonne victoire!”

  Just as a sudden breeze parted the fog, René saw the fear on the man’s face. At that instant, René felt excruciating pain in his stomach and the breath explode from his mouth, followed by the taste of bile and blood. Instinctively, René spun his musket around and pointed it at the Redcoat’s chest and, as his knees gave way, pulled the trigger.

  Tarot: TWO OF CUPS

  Revelation: Arrangements made for cooperation.

  Hortense heard the visitors coming to the door and opened it with a smile. “Welcome, Jeanette! We’re all ready for your enfants!”

  Jeanette stepped inside, holding her baby. Antoinette followed her quietly. “Are you sure they won’t be a problem, Hortense?” asked the young mother.

  “Of course not! We have Suzanne’s bassinet for Pierre in the dining room, and Antoinette, the big sister now, can tell me what to do just in case I don’t know. Isn’t that right, Antoinette?”

  The young girl g
ave Hortense a huge grin. “I help Maman every day!” she said.

  “Good. I know I can count on you.” Hortense turned to gesture to the female adult quietly standing behind her. “Plus, my cousin’s wife, Claire, is here to help me take care of them,” she said to Jeanette.

  Bending down to look into the little girl’s eyes, Hortense continued, “Why, Antoinette, you get prettier every day!”

  Antoinette blushed and said, “Thank you, Madame Hortense.” She held out a large basket. “Maman put everything we need in this.”

  “Très bien. We’ll set it right here on this table, and you can go with Madame Claire to the dining room. I just happen to have some biscuits waiting to be eaten.”

  Claire smiled and held out her hand to Antoinette. “You know, Madame Hortense makes the best biscuits I’ve ever tasted!”

  The little girl started to skip into the dining room but looked back at Hortense to say, “Oh, I know. She’s the best cook ever!”

  Hortense chuckled, then held out her hands to take the baby from Jeanette. “Ah, and here’s petit Pierre! My, but you’ve grown so!” Kissing the child on his forehead, she added, “And I’ll bet you like sweet biscuits, too!”

  “There’s not much he doesn’t like, Hortense!” Jeanette laughed. “He has a hearty appetite. I suspect he’s going to be quite big and tall, like his daddy.”

  “And where is his father now?” asked Hortense.

  “He’s with Major Plauché’s battalion; I’ve been praying to Our Lady of Prompt Succor all day.”

  “As have we all,” agreed Hortense gently, rocking the baby.

  “I’m grateful to you for taking the children while I help out at the Ursuline convent. Especially on this late notice.”

  “You know us, Jeanette—always on call! It was Suzanne’s idea to organize caring for one another’s children; everybody is pitching in to aid the cause, and I’m happy to help. But it’s so dark outside. Will you be all right walking to the convent?”

  “Several of us from the neighborhood are going to walk together. We have lanterns and, just in case, a couple of brooms.”

  “Brooms?”

  “Well, we gave all of our weapons to Jackson’s forces, but in case we run into a wayward Redcoat, the brooms will look like rifles in the dark and we’ll scare him off!”

  Hortense laughed. “Ah—good luck to the Rampart witches, then!”

  Jeanette bent down to give her baby a kiss. “Au revoir, my sweet bébé, and to you also, Hortense.”

  “And bonne chance to you, Jeanette!”

  After Jeanette left the house, Hortense carried Pierre into the dining room. Antoinette was sitting with Claire at the table, and, while munching her biscuit and swinging her legs underneath the chair, the little girl was also peppering the woman with questions.

  “Do you think we’ll be safe? Ooooh! There goes a cannon again. That was a really loud noise! Do you think somebody got killed? What if the British capture all of us? Will I see Maman soon? All she says is”—and here, Antoinette lowered her voice to a somber tone—“‘Let’s not talk about that, ma petite. You don’t need to worry.’”

  Antoinette stopped chewing, stuck out her lower lip, crossed her arms, and glared at Claire. “But I do worry, and nobody will tell me what’s happening. After all, I am almost a grown woman!”

  Claire looked up at Hortense, stifling a smile. Hortense laid the baby in the bassinet and poured herself some coffee. “Your maman will be back by tomorrow morning, Antoinette. And we are safe—General Jackson and his troops won’t let those Redcoats into our city. But we must do all we can to help him. So that means that while I take care of your little brother here, you can assist Madame Claire in making biscuits as a special treat for everyone at the hospital. How does that sound?”

  “Are your biscuits as good as Madame Hortense’s?”

  Claire smiled. “I’ve never had any complaints.”

  Tarot: THE THREE OF SWORDS

  Revelation: Sorrow; tears.

  It was time for the men in Miguel’s rank to turn and withdraw the forty paces. After moving half the distance, Miguel heard a faint plea.

  “Au secours! Au secours! Un médecin!”

  With his musket at the ready, Miguel moved cautiously toward the source of the sound. Scanning the ground to his left, he saw what appeared to be a pile of brush. As he drew closer, he could make out two bodies, one on top of the other. The soldier on the bottom was not moving, and the white piping on his uniform, which seemed to glow in the moonlight, identified him as English. The other man was facedown, on all fours.

  Miguel, his musket aimed at the crouching figure, asked, “Comment vous appelez-vous?”

  After a liquid cough, the voice croaked, “René Bonet.”

  The astonished Miguel set down his musket and moved to his comrade’s side. Pushing René away from the dead Englishman, Miguel had to use all of his concentration to keep his stomach under control when he saw the blood and vomit dripping from René’s mouth and the gaping wound in his abdomen. Turning René on his side, Miguel called for assistance and again began praying the Pater Noster. Within minutes, another of Major Daquin’s free men of color and a Creole from René’s own battalion joined him. The two free men of color carefully lifted René to a sitting position while the Creole collected the muskets. As he led the way to the rear of the American army at the Lacoste plantation, the Creole soldier also tried to find the best footing for the two men carrying René.

  When they finally reached their destination, Miguel spied a wagon already filled with wounded and called out to the driver. “Do you have room for one more?”

  “I think I can squeeze another one in,” said the driver.

  The two free men of color gently placed René inside the cart.

  “René, you’re going to be all right now. Just keep thinking of Suzanne and your baby!”

  René opened his eyes again and gave Miguel a wan smile.

  Miguel could hear the moans of the other injured troops sitting or lying in various positions in the wagon’s interior. The smells of blood and vomit mixed with the scent of the straw being used to cushion the jolts of the wagon.

  Miguel approached the driver.

  “That last man I put into your wagon . . . ,” he began. Then he stopped. “Millie? Is that you?”

  “Miguel!” the driver responded. “Yes, it’s me. What do you need?”

  “René, Suzanne’s husband, is the man I just laid in your wagon.”

  “Oh, mon Dieu!”

  “He’s in a bad way; he was stabbed with a bayonet. Can you get my wife from Jackson’s headquarters on Rue de Royal? She’s the best healer in town.”

  “Absolutely, Miguel. I’ll pick her up on my way to the convent.” Now addressing her mule, she said, “Giddyap, Bella. We’ve got a job to do.”

  Although the distance should have merited a two-hour ride, Millie was able to shave off fifteen minutes by keeping Bella at a quick clip. She arrived at Jackson’s headquarters and was met by Corporal Madden.

  “I’m here for Madame Caresse. She needs to come with me to the convent; her daughter’s husband, René Bonet, has been horribly wounded.”

  Rufus Madden did not have time to hear any more; Catherine had already pushed by him on her way out. Scamp hurried after her, carrying the medicine bag.

  “Millie! Where is he?”

  “He was the last one on,” said Millie, pointing.

  The older woman rushed to the back of the wagon and saw René curled up in a fetal position. She grabbed her medicine bag from Scamp, climbed into the wagon, and made room for herself next to René. Scamp joined Millie up front as she took up the reins again and got Bella going.

  “René,” Catherine said, stroking his hair, noting his feverish forehead, “it’s me, Catherine. We’re taking you to the convent, where I will take care of you.”

  She removed one of the cloths from her medicine bag. René winced as she lifted his shirt and gently cleaned away some of
the blood. No wonder—the wound’s excoriated edges were raw, and the blood continued to flow. As she pressed René’s rigid abdomen to stop the bleeding, his face contorted with pain. Her eyes teared up when she realized the damage; his intestine had been perforated.

  The young man tried to say something.

  “Don’t talk, René. Be very still. You need to save your strength. We still have a rocky ride ahead, but we should be there in less than twenty minutes.”

  René nodded slightly, then closed his eyes. Clutching her medicine bag, Catherine began her crawl through the cart, giving as much relief as possible to the other victims.

  When Millie’s cart reached the Ursuline convent, she pulled up next to another wagon carrying the severely wounded. Several nuns and free women of color were taking the men inside. While they transferred the wounded onto stretchers, handed out crutches, and aided those who could walk by themselves, Scamp jumped out of the front seat of the wagon and went to see Catherine in the rear.

  “They’re backed up here, Scamp. Why don’t you see if the ladies can use your help inside with mopping up or something?” his mistress suggested.

  The boy dashed into the convent, then stopped to watch the developing scene with wide, horrified eyes.

  The makeshift hospital was filling up with soldiers in agony, moaning with pain, calling out for wives, mothers, or friends. The newly recruited caregivers, both overcoming their dread and concealing their instinctive reactions, displayed unflinching faces, in sharp contrast with their patients’ anguished countenances. As the doctors shouted out abrupt instructions for each new casualty, there was no time to stare or cry. The women scurried from one patient to another, analyzing needs, getting supplies, stitching up gashes, wiping brows, offering water, and comforting those they could.

  Père Antoine moved expeditiously from one severely wounded American soldier to another, administering absolution in Latin to the Catholics and saying an Our Father in English for those who were not. The women had seen to it that a window in each room had been opened to enable souls to depart.