Great Events in the History of North and South America

by Charles A. Goodrich

The invading army, it was now certain, was at hand. Indeed, they had effected a landing; they were on the banks of the Mississippi, only nine miles from the city. This, as we have stated, was on the 23d of December.

General Jackson had decided, in case of their landing, to attack them the first possible moment. "Feeble as my force is," said he, "I am resolved to assail the enemy on his first landing, and perish sooner than he shall reach the city:" a resolution which he now proceeded to fulfill with all the energy in his power. That same night was the time appointed.

A little before dark, the American troops arrived in view of the enemy. They were, at this time, about two thousand strong, but afterwards rëinforced to the number of one thousand more. Among the vessels, which had escaped the British, was one of considerable size, called the Caroline. With this, Commodore Patterson was to drop down the river, anchor in front of the British, and commence the attack, which should be a signal for a general assault.

A British officer, who was present during the scene, thus describes the dismay of the British troops, when first the Caroline opened her appalling fire upon them.

"The day passed without any alarm, and, the darkness having set in, the fires were made to blaze with increased splendor; our evening meal was eaten, and we prepared to sleep. But about half-past seven o'clock, the attention of several individuals was drawn to a large vessel, which seemed to be stealing up the river till she came opposite to our camp, when her anchor was dropped, and the sails leisurely furled. We hailed her, but she gave no answer. This forboded no good. Soon after, we heard some one cry, in a commanding voice, 'Give them this for the honor of America!' and they did give it to us. Explosion after explosion burst upon us, and showers of grape swept down numbers in the camp.

"Nor to this dreadful storm of fire had we any thing to oppose. Our artillery was too light to bring into competition with an adversary so powerful. Our only alternative was to shelter the men, as much as possible, from this iron hail; and our only shelter was to hasten under the dyke ["levee">[. There we lay for an hour, unable to move from our ground, or offer any opposition; when the sound of musketry, at some distance, called our attention towards the pickets, and warned us to prepare for a closer and more desperate strife. Soon after, our apprehensions were realized. A semi-circular blaze of musketry burst upon us. We were surrounded." The assailants were Coffee's brigade of six hundred dismounted riflemen.

The further details of proceedings that night, we must omit. For two hours, such warfare was carried on as the darkness allowed. The American troops did not exceed two thousand; the force of the enemy reached, at length, four or five thousand. The Americans were not the victors, nor were they vanquished. They retired in safety, with a loss of but twenty-four killed, one hundred and fifteen wounded, and seventy-four made prisoners. The loss of the British was not less than four hundred in killed, wounded, and prisoners. Among the Americans killed were two valiant officers—Colonel Lauderdale and Lieutenant McClelland. This action was probably the salvation of New Orleans. From that hour, the Americans had more confidence; the British less.

On the 4th of January, the long-expected rëinforcement from Kentucky, amounting to two thousand two hundred and fifty, under command of Major-general Thomas, reached New Orleans, but the great advantage, anticipated from this additional force, failed of being realized. Not more than five hundred of them were supplied with muskets fit for service; for the remainder, none could possibly be furnished.

For several days longer, the armies continued in view of each other, but comparatively inactive. Preparations, however, were making. The clouds were gathering. The storm was approaching. At length, the 8th of January arrived; a day rendered memorable by the victory achieved by the Americans over a British force greatly superior, and in every possible way prepared for the contest.

On the morning of the 8th, signals, intended to produce concert in the enemy's movements, were descried. Sky-rockets shot up. Preparations, as if for immediate action, were observed. And thus it proved. The important day had arrived, and operations were commenced on the part of the British, by showers of bombs and balls upon the American line: while congreve-rockets, in multitudes, went whizzing through the air. The two divisions, under command of Sir Edward Packenham in person, and supported by Generals Keane and Gibbs, now moved forward. A dense fog enabled them to approach within a short distance of the American intrenchments without being discovered. Their march was dignified—their step, firm—their bearing, lofty. Meanwhile, all was silence among the Americans behind the parapets. The guns were loaded—the matches were ready—all were waiting, with breathless anxiety, for the word of command. Jackson stood an intent observer of the scene. He watched every movement—weighed every circumstance—measured the lessening distance. They had reached the critical spot to which the guns were pointed—the voice of Jackson was heard, as in tones of thunder, "Fire!" and, in an instant, such a storm of death rolled over the astonished British, as was scarcely ever before witnessed. The front ranks were mowed down, and their advance arrested. At this critical juncture, Sir Edward Packenham threw himself in front of the astonished columns, and urged them on. But at that instant, he fell mortally wounded, and, nearly at the same time, Generals Gibbs and Keane were borne from the field, dangerously wounded. The troops now fled. In their flight, they were met by General Lambert, on the advance with a reserve force, and urged once more to renew the attack; but his commands were unheeded.