The Cards Don't Lie

by Sue Ingalls Finan

  Making the sign of the cross, the Ursuline nun went back to her nursing duties.

  Other petitions, too, included individually unique appeals.

  Catherine prayed, “Please, bring my Miguel back to me. I know this sounds selfish, but I am worn out, physically and emotionally. I really need Miguel. I need him—his care, his support, his strength.”

  She bowed her head and covered her face with her hands. Then, taking a deep breath, she continued, “Speaking of strength, please help General Jackson and his army. They are so committed to saving our city. Bless and protect them; let them return safely to their families.”

  “Keep our young Scamp safe and out of General Jackson’s way!” murmured Hortense. “Yes, he can be a little too lively and curious, but he’s a good boy; please don’t let him get hurt!”

  “Watch over my Andre,” said Claire. “He doesn’t have any weapons, except that shovel he’s been digging with. I hope he’s not afraid too much. Not like me!”

  “I know René is with you and the baby in heaven, Blessed Mother,” prayed Suzanne. “He made the ultimate sacrifice. Isn’t his death enough? Yes, I’m angry. Yes, I’m wretched, too. Help me get through this struggle. Please don’t let anyone else suffer like I have.”

  “Hi, it’s me, Millie. I know you don’t see me very often. But this isn’t about me; it’s about Pete. Please, please protect him. He and his fellow Baratarians are so brave. Now, I know he’s not a churchgoer, but watch over him anyway. He’s a good man. In fact, he’s the best man I’ve ever known. And I’ve known quite a few.”

  “For my son-in-law, Jacques, may he return safely to his wife, Marguerite, and the baby. She loves him so,” whispered Sheila. She glanced at her daughter, kneeling next to her, and saw that she had cradled her head in her arms. As if she hears the cannons, thought Sheila. My poor dear.

  What Sheila did not see was Marguerite releasing her self from her body, floating down the aisle, and gliding out through the closed chapel door.

  Tarot: THE KING OF SWORDS

  Revelation: A wise man of intellectual leadership

  who strategizes the future.

  “Bonsoir, gentlemen. Are you ready to report?”

  “Yes, General,” responded Commodore Patterson. “From the levee on the west bank of the Mississippi, opposite the Villeré Canal, over a period of several hours I was able to watch the enemy assembling artillery, ammunition, and other supplies in preparation to cross the river. I assume they are only waiting for additional boats. With more infantry support, I could move my battery closer to the crossing point and open fire while they’re crossing.”

  “Captain Jugeat, anything to report?”

  “My scouts confirmed the prisoners’ information that the English are widening and deepening the Villeré Canal. Where it meets Bayou Bienvenue, they’re beginning to move their barges into the enlarged canal. The English are in a hurry. They’re digging in shifts around the clock.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen. Captain Jugeat, once again, my compliments to your Choctaws.

  “Commodore Patterson, I need your battery to cover the river and the right flank of the rampart; my observations from what’s left of the second floor of the Macarty house show that the majority of the English infantry are still in their position facing us. However, I will send you every soldier and cannon I can spare.

  “Major Arnaud, I believe your second regiment is already with General Morgan on the west bank of the river.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tomorrow, take the rest of your battalion back to the city, cross to the south bank, and, staying out of sight, march them to General Morgan’s position.

  “General Adair.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Attach all the members of your Kentucky volunteers who are fit and armed to join Major Arnaud’s march to General Morgan’s camp.”

  “I’ll see to it, sir.”

  “It’s been a week since the last assault. I expect that the British are going to attack any day now. General Adair, please accompany me while I inspect our defenses.”

  “With pleasure, sir!”

  “I believe you’ll be impressed by our fortifications. The rampart is over five feet high and twenty feet thick in some places. Our gun platforms are solid, and the canal makes a nice barrier. Considering that only the canal existed two weeks ago, our rampart is a manifestation of the population’s, as well as the army’s, overwhelming desire to defeat the acclaimed English army.”

  His staff members nodded their heads in agreement.

  “When I return from making a final round of the lines with General Adair, I’ll be back in the upper gallery of the Macarty house, watching the British through my telescope. Again, I believe the attack is imminent. I want you all to try to get some sleep tonight, but do so fully dressed, with your sword and pistol by your side, ready for battle.”

  Upon this final command from the general, Marguerite began trembling, then hurtled back to her self in the chapel.

  Tarot: THE HANGED MAN

  Revelation: a pause in one’s life;

  waiting with fear and anxiety.

  My dearest Catherine,

  Tomorrow the British will probably attack us again. Our luck has been good so far; I just hope it lasts. And even though I’m scared, I’m proud to be a part of this effort and doing my share to protect our beautiful New Orleans.

  I deeply miss you and am so sorry I cannot be with you during this terrible time with Suzanne. But you need to keep your spirits up, no matter the outcome. I have always admired your pluck and am grateful to have shared the past two years with you. Truly, you have made them the best years of my life.

  I hope to see you soon, but if that doesn’t happen, I just need you to know how much I love you.

  Always,

  Miguel

  Tarot: THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE

  Revelation: Unexpected turn of luck; success.

  January 8, 1815

  Jackson had slept a couple of hours in his tent when he was awakened by a messenger from General Morgan, commander of American forces on the southern side of the river.

  “Sir, the activity on the riverbank at the English camp makes General Morgan certain that the main attack will be against his position on the south side of the river.”

  After a long yawn, General Jackson said, “Horse manure! Return to General Morgan and remind him that the city is on this side of the river. The English know that if they advance on the south bank, I will hold the interior lines and can easily move this army parallel to the English and be prepared to prevent any attempt by them to recross the river. Also, an English advance west on the south bank will allow me to cut their supply line to their fleet. So far, we have held our own, but it’s not because the English are stupid.”

  Jackson yawned again and then added, “And having said that, Monsieur Shepard, please deliver my message to General Morgan with a little more tact.”

  “Yes, General Jackson, I will relay your message in the manner of a Creole gentleman!”

  Blinking at his pocket watch, Jackson continued, “Twenty minutes after one. I may as well stay up. We don’t need to awaken the troops for another two hours. The English will probably attack at daybreak or a little before, so three o’clock a.m. will give us plenty of time to prepare. Light another lantern, Rufus; I’m going to the Macarty house to keep an eye on the English camp.”

  It was not so much what General Jackson saw from the second floor of the ruined Macarty house as what he heard. From the direction of the English camp came the sound of digging and hammering, but, oddly, Jackson could see no fires or even candles burning. Clearly, the English were trying to conceal their activity and apparently thought that the sleeping American troops’ snoring would drown out the noise.

  Jackson observed that the English had been almost correct about the snoring, and he presumed that the hammering came from sappers making plank bridges to cross the ditch and ladders for scaling the rampart. The digging and o
ther noise could be the English repairing and rearming the artillery emplacements that the American artillery had decimated on New Year’s Day.

  After detecting the futile English attempt to conceal their preparations, Jackson gave the order to awaken the troops so they could cook, eat, and take their positions before sunrise. Fourteen-year-old Jordan B. Noble, a drummer of Major Daquin’s Battalion of Free Men of Color, began the long roll for reveille, although most of the soldiers did not actually need to be awakened.

  Leaving the Macarty house, Jackson walked the 280 yards to Battery 1 at the river end of the rampart. The battery’s light cannons were manned by regular US Army artillerymen and supported to their north by Captain Thomas Beale’s militia company of New Orleans riflemen. Covering the next eighty yards was the 7th US Army infantry regiment. Old Hickory praised the men of these units for the fighting spirit they had shown to this point and was confident in their ability to inflict another defeat on the enemy.

  Shaking hands and slapping backs, he moved to Battery 2. The general warmly greeted the former sailors of the USS Carolina who manned one of the ship’s cannons, now landlocked. He commended the seamen, a mix of Yankees and Baratarians, for their steadfast bravery in having shelled the English camp during the December 23 night battle and the following days.

  Encouraging more men of the 7th Infantry, the general moved along the forty yards of rampart to Battery 3 and the aroma of brewing coffee. Battery 3 consisted of two heavy naval cannons under the command of Jean Lafitte’s half brother, Dominique Yu, and crewed by Baratarian privateers, including Peter. Resting by his cannon, Millie’s beau was packing his ears with cotton while watching Jackson’s approach. The general gladly accepted a cup of hot coffee from the diminutive Dominique, jubilantly thanking him and his brother for the coffee, the cannons, gunpowder, projectiles, musket flints, and, most of all, the experienced gun crews. Jackson noticed Peter and nodded to the observant Baratarian; Peter saluted in return.

  Savoring his hot coffee, Jackson smiled to himself. Perhaps because these men were more accustomed to confronting an enemy, they had enjoyed their early-morning meal of coffee, beignets, cornbread, and bacon. Jackson knew that his men from Kentucky and Tennessee had had a simple breakfast of cornbread and whiskey. The citizen soldiers from New Orleans, he supposed, preferred not having any food. Tension, anxiety, and fear already filled their stomachs. The general understood; he was familiar with those sensations.

  The next two hundred yards to Battery 4 were defended by Major Jean Baptist Plauce’s Battalion of New Orleans Volunteers and Major Pierre Lacoste’s Battalion of Free Men of Color. Although Major Lacoste’s men were untested, Jackson told them he knew they were the equals of the brave Creoles of Major Plauce’s battalion, who had held the left flank of the American army during the night battle and beaten off a determined bayonet charge by the English reinforcements, preventing the American army from being outflanked.

  Battery 4 possessed the largest cannon in the American arsenal: a thirty-two-pounder naval gun served by more former USS Carolina crewmen. Upon Jackson’s greeting, they voiced their readiness for the enemy assault.

  The general next encountered Major Jean Daquin’s Second Battalion of Free Men of Color, who manned the 160 yards of the rampart between Batteries 4 and 5. Andre had been assigned to help clean their weapons. He was crouching down next to Miguel as Jackson stopped to talk to the 250 men. They all listened quietly as Old Hickory said that he had not forgotten how they and the Creole volunteers had stood their ground and defeated a charge by the exalted English army. He assured them that all citizens of the United States would always remember their bravery. He counseled them to be vigilant while exuding confidence that victory could be theirs. Miguel and Andre, along with the rest of the men of color, felt more assured as the general acknowledged their service.

  Batteries 5 and 6 were only a few yards apart and consisted of light field pieces manned by US Army artillerymen and veterans of Napoleon’s army. They saluted their general, indicating their preparedness.

  The final functioning battery, Battery 7, was 200 yards to the east and roughly 240 yards from the edge of the swamp. The general took his time making his way to the last battery while encouraging the Tennessee volunteers under General William Carroll. Although they had missed the night battle, many had served gallantly in the Indian War and had turned back the English advance on December 28. He advised that they now were the defenders of the center of the American line because of their famous accuracy and the range of their rifles.

  Walking toward the lightening sky, Jackson encountered General Coffee. Coffee’s Tennessee volunteers held the eastern end of the rampart, such as it existed, for its 520-yard extension through the cypress swamp.

  “Well, General Coffee, as always, your men have the toughest assignment: standing in the water with their rifles, waiting for the English to appear.”

  “Don’t worry, General, we have Captain Jugeat’s fifty Choctaws scouting out in front, so we’ll have plenty of warning if the English come this way.”

  “Well, remind your men not to worry about their feet, but to keep their powder dry!”

  “Andy, if you think my men needed that information, you and me would be here alone. The others would be buried back at Emuckfaw Creek, Enotachopo Creek, or Horseshoe Bend.”

  Jacques, who was still mourning Tobias’s death, had nonetheless returned to Coffee’s side to assist as needed. Right now, though, he was wet and shivering in the bitter cold. But he smiled at Coffee’s words. He knew that the woodsmen he accompanied were not inexperienced; they were seasoned in the use of firearms, had seen combat, and were far better marksmen than the enemy. Whatever action the British had planned, these Americans were guaranteed to perform valiantly.

  Jackson laughed. “You are right, as always, John Coffee. The Tennessee volunteers have endured hardships worse than wet feet and fought with courage, resolution, and like professionals.”

  Glancing at the sky, Jackson changed the subject. “Today is the day. I can hear the Redcoats. I can feel them. I just can’t see them yet.”

  Coffee replied, “Just a few minutes ago, that Choctaw Nakni captured two Redcoat deserters: Irishmen runaways through the swamp. Figured not much difference between an Irish bog and a Louisiana swamp; got lost real fast. Said they were part of a work party repairing English artillery redoubts. In return for a promise that we wouldn’t trade ’em back to the English, they were more than happy to let us know the English will attack today, as soon as their cannons are in place.”

  “Well, that agrees with all the other observations and reports. Like to borrow one of your horses, John. Want the men to be able to see me when the lead starts flying.”

  “Well, if you promise to return it in as good a condition as you get it. On top of a horse, you’ll be showing above the rampart. Lot of that lead will be flying at you.”

  “Brave men are braver when they can see that their leader is not hiding someplace. But if it will make you happy, get me your shortest horse.”

  “Just what I had in mind; unfortunately, I don’t have a billy goat handy.”

  “Now, John, an old goat riding an old goat might confuse the men.”

  “Yes, but the real goat would probably have more sense than to go trotting along behind the rampart!”

  As Jacques listened to the two friends bantering, he briefly forgot his troubles. He just continued smiling and thinking, Mon Dieu! These crazy Americans!

  Mounted on a stallion and rejoining his staff, Jackson looked at his defenses through the enemy’s eyes. He was confident that General Coffee’s Tennessee volunteers could hold his northern flank and the cypress swamp. The weakest point in the defenses was from Battery 7, where the artillery support consisted of only one six-pounder and one eighteen-pounder cannon covering a stretch of about 250 yards to the swamp. Although General Carroll’s seasoned Tennessee militia defended that section of the rampart, Jackson ordered General Adair’s Kentucky volun
teers who did not have firearms to form a reserve line twenty yards behind the Tennesseans.

  As the sky began to brighten, the men of the various units moved to their assigned positions. A thick mist hovered above the ground, obscuring the view of the fields extending to the English camp. The elevation of the parapet gave the Americans a slight advantage, but the English did not appear. The Americans waited in silence, each man reflecting on his own thoughts and the coming battle.

  Satisfied that his army was as prepared as possible, General Jackson walked his horse to a point just south of Battery 7. This gave him a view both along and across the weakest portion of the American line.

  Suddenly, a rocket roared into the air and zigzagged across the sky. The Americans craned their necks to follow the rocket’s path. Then it quickly fizzled and disappeared. But still there was no sign of the English attack. The Americans along the rampart waited in anticipation for several minutes, which felt like hours. Then, suddenly, the roar of thunder boomed as the English artillery opened fire. The American cannons promptly replied. The air in the one-thousand-yard-wide battlefront was quickly filled with various-size projectiles of iron, from cannonballs to exploding shells.

  General Jackson remounted his horse and moved with his staff a few yards farther back from the rampart, opening up access for the foot soldiers and providing an extra margin of safety for his officers. As both sides continued their artillery duel, Jackson thanked God that he did not have to order his men to charge into that storm of missiles.

  As the mist continued to thin, the general’s assessment was proven, as the multiple ranks of Redcoats became visible to the Americans along the rampart.

  The initial English advance was along the river, directly in front of American Batteries 1, 2, and 3, and within range of the battery on the west riverbank.

  As the English infantry advanced, their artillery support slackened to prevent them from hitting their own troops. With targets in view, the American batteries stepped up their fire as their pickets scurried back to the safety of the rampart. When the American pickets reached safety, the men of Beale’s New Orleans Rifle Company and the US 7th Infantry opened fire, adding a storm of rifle and musket balls to the cannon fire. The musket and rifle fire tumbled scores of Redcoats, while the three American batteries along the rampart began firing grapeshot, turning the English soldiers into a haze of red mist. The attack along the river disintegrated as fleeing Redcoats tried to take refuge on the riverside of the levee, only to come under fire from the American battery on the south side of the river. The common English soldier believed he had only one real option. Advancing against the American rampart meant certain death. Therefore, he chose the wrath of his officers, and a possible prison term for cowardly conduct. Knowing that many of the officers were dead or wounded hastened the decision.