Famous American Statesmen

by Sarah Knowles Bolton

And forward they went, with quick steps and eager hearts. A tremendous fire opened upon our artillery-men. The horses attached to the cannon became unmanageable, and one of the pieces was turned over into the ditch. Jackson dashed into the midst of the fray, exclaiming, "Save the guns, my boys, at every sacrifice," and the guns were saved. Men fought hand to hand in the smoke and the darkness; the British using their bayonets, and the Americans their long hunting-knives. Prisoners were taken and retaken. Till ten o'clock the battle raged; when our men fell back upon the Roderiguez canal, to wait till the morning sun should show where to begin the deadly work. When the morning came, the battle-field presented a ghastly appearance. Says a British officer concerning the American dead, "Their hair, eyebrows, and lashes were thickly covered with hoar-frost, or rime, their bloodless cheeks vying with its whiteness. Few were dressed in military uniforms, and most of them bore the appearance of farmers or husbandmen. Peace to their ashes! they had nobly died in defending their country."

The Roderiguez canal was now strongly fortified. Spades, crowbars, and wheelbarrows had been sent from the city. The canal was deepened and the earth thrown up on the side. Fences were torn away, and rails driven down to keep the sand from falling back into the canal. The line of defence, a mile long, was four or five feet high in some places. Cotton bales from a neighboring ship were used.

"Here," said Jackson, "we will plant our stakes, and not abandon them until we drive these 'red-coat' rascals into the river or the swamp."

While these busy preparations were going on, food was brought to General Jackson, which he ate in the saddle. Christmas day came. The English Admiral Cochrane had said, "I shall eat my Christmas dinner in New Orleans." General Jackson heard of it, and remarked, "Perhaps so; but I shall have the honor of presiding at that dinner."

The Americans were ready, but the British did not make the expected attack. Every man was at his post. When an officer, the son of one of Jackson's best friends, said to him, "May I go to town to-day?" the reply was, "Of course, Captain Livingston, you may go; but ought you to go?" The young man blushed, bowed, and returned to duty.

Meantime, the British were not idle. They had determined to silence the guns of the American ships, and, with great toil, had brought up into the swampy ground nine field-pieces, two howitzers, one mortar, a furnace for heating balls, and the necessary ammunition. At dawn on the morning of December 27 the firing began. The Carolina, after a terrific bombardment, blew up. The Louisiana fought her way out into a place of safety.

The days went by slowly under the dreadful suspense. On New Year's day, General Packenham cannonaded the Americans and was driven back. On January 8, the final battle began. Early in the morning, the British moved against the Americans. Jackson walked along the lines, cheering the men, "Stand to your guns. Don't waste your ammunition. See that every shot tells. Give it to them, boys! Let us finish the business to-day."

And every shot did tell. The sharpshooters aimed at the officers, and the batteries mowed down the British regulars. Seeing them falter, Packenham rushed among the men, shouting, "For shame! recollect that you are British soldiers!" Taking off his hat, he spurred his horse to the head of the wavering column. A ball splintered his right arm. Then the Highlanders came to the support of their comrades.

"Hurrah! brave Highlanders!" he said, as a mass of grape-shot tore open his thigh and killed his horse. Another shot struck him, and he was borne under a live-oak to die. The great tree is still standing.

At nine o'clock in the morning the battle was virtually over. The English lost seven hundred killed, fourteen hundred wounded, and five hundred taken prisoners; while the Americans lost but eight killed and thirteen wounded. "The field was so thickly strewn with the dead that, from the American ditch, you could have walked a quarter of a mile to the front on the bodies of the killed and disabled.... The course of the column could be distinctly traced in the broad red line of the victims of the terrible batteries and unerring guns of the Americans. They fell in their tracks; in some places, whole platoons lay together, as if killed by the same discharge."