THE LAST BATTLE OF THE WAR.

ANDREW JACKSON.There is no event in American history which seems to be so misunderstood, especially in details, as the battle fought in New Orleans after the close of the war of 1812. The commander of the Americans at that notable repulse became afterwards a prominent politician, or, rather, resumed his political career, and was twice elected President of the United States by the Democratic party, which his course in office aided to disintegrate. The contest during the three times he was a candidate was extremely bitter, and while he was lauded by his friends as a hero, patriot, and statesman, he was denounced by his foes as an illiterate ruffian, ignorant alike of military science and state-craft. The battle upon which his fame mainly rested, was said to have been won entirely by the folly of the British, who stupidly marched upon impregnable works, and were shot down easily by expert marksmen intrenched behind cotton-bales. This last error is amusing, and nothing will ever correct it. The embankment behind which most of the militia lay was formed of swamp-mud mainly, the best material possible for earthworks. A few cotton-bales had been used at one point, but one of them being fired, the dense smoke made it an annoyance, and it was speedily removed. That my readers may comprehend the affair, I give a brief account of the operations leading up to the fight.The proclamations of Lieutenant-colonel Nichols at Pensacola, which, in violation of Spanish neutrality, he occupied with a British force, and the attempt of the enemy to obtain the aid and co-operation of Lafitte, the head of the Baratarian outlaws, had aroused the attention of Jackson, who acted with his usual promptnessand decision, without awaiting orders from the War Department. He had been satisfied of these designs before, through information obtained by means of his agents, and waited an opportunity to strike a blow at the combined British and Spanish enemy. He knew that New Orleans was to be the objective point of an expedition, and prepared for its defence. Recruiting went on slowly; the Southern Indians were openly or covertly hostile; but the failure of a naval and land attack on Fort Bowyer, repulsed with slaughter, and the loss of the flag-ship, disengaged most of the savages from alliance with Nichols, and brought in large numbers of volunteers. Jackson marched against Pensacola, where the British were intrenched, and proposed to the governor to occupy two of the forts with American garrisons until the Spanish government could send enough troops to make its neutrality respected. This the governor refused, when Jackson at once attacked the town, and after storming a battery, most of the forts were surrendered. Fort Barrancas was in the hands of the British, but before Jackson could attack it, the enemy abandoned and blew it up, and with the Spanish governor and troops embarked on the squadron and left the harbor. The American government gave a cold support, almost amounting to censure, for this necessary and justifiable action; but public opinion in the South and West sustained the commander of the Seventh Department.VILLERÉ’S MANSION.Jackson, who had gone to Mobile before this to look after its defence, received from Governor Claiborne the letter of Lafitte, giving the British propositions and their rejection, and learned that the citizens of New Orleans, under the lead of Edward Livingston, had organized a Defence Committee. He soon after left for New Orleans, where he arrived on the 2d of December. He found the people alarmed and discordant—the masses blaming the Legislature, the Legislature the governor, and the governor both. There was a lack of money, arms, ammunition, and men. It is true there were two militia regiments and a slender volunteer battalion, commanded by Major Planché, a brave creole officer;[1]but these were not sufficient to guard thecity, which contained a large amount of property, and had but meagre fortifications to protect its approaches. Jackson went actively to work to improve the condition of things by strengthening the forts, erecting new ones, obstructing the bayous, and establishing discipline.“THE HERMITAGE,” JACKSON’S RESIDENCE, IN 1861.On the 9th of December the British squadron, having on board over seven thousand troops, made their appearance and anchored near the entrance to Lake Borgne. Here they prepared to land. They were not aware of the revelations of Lafitte, and hoped to take the place by surprise. They soon learned their error. The late commodore (then lieutenant) Ap Catesby Jones was in command of our flotilla, and had sent out two gun-boats, under command of Lieutenant M’Keever and sailing-master Ulrick, to watch their approach. These reported the fleet to Jones on the 10th, and Jones made for Pass Christian, where the astounded enemy saw his flotilla at anchor on the 13th. As it was impossible to land troops under these circumstances, Admiral Cochrane manned sixty barges, each armed with a carronade and filled with men, to capture the tiny squadron, which was manned by one hundred and eighty-three men. He succeeded in this, with the loss of three hundred killed and wounded, after an hour’s fight. The American loss was only six killed and thirty-five wounded. This partly cleared the way for the enemy, who also discovered the passage through the Bayou Bienvenu. On the 22d, as many of the invaders as could find transportation embarked, and landing at the Fisherman’s Village, at the mouth of the bayou, captured most of the picket-guard. The men taken so represented the numbers of Jackson’s force that the invaders proceeded with more caution. They moved slowly up the bayou, and at Villeré’s plantation surrounded the house, and took Major Villeré, the commander of the pickets. He escaped, however, and carried the news to Jackson.The American general in the mean while had not been idle. He had proclaimed martial law in the city, brought the troops to a state of discipline, infused his heroic spirit into the population, and sent messengers to Coffee, Carroll, and Thomas, urging them to move forward their commands as soon as possible. On the 22d, Carroll’s troops of Tennessee levies, all skilled riflemen, landed in New Orleans, and Coffee’s brigade of mounted rifles were encamped five miles above the city. As soon as the news of the enemy’s presence was brought to Jackson he determined to attack on the night of the 23d, both to check the enemy and to familiarize hisraw troops with their work. In the mean time the schoonerCarolinawas directed to drop down the river in the darkness, and open fire on the enemy’s camp. That fire would drive them upon the land-forces.The affair was carefully managed and brilliantly carried out. The British were driven under the levee, and the troops, excited and triumphant, returned to the city in perfect order and with full confidence in their commander.JACKSON’S TOMB.The events of the night had somewhat depressed the spirits of the enemy, and on Christmas-day, which was cold and disagreeable, a gloom pervaded the British encampment. That day, however, their spirits were lifted by the arrival of Sir Edward Pakenham, “the hero of Salamanca.” Sir Edward was then in the prime of manhood, thirty-three years of age, brave, upright, and honorable, and altogether undeserving of the obloquy that so long hung over his memory as the reputed author of the asserted watchword—“beauty and booty.” He was among old friends, most of the troops there having fought with him in the Spanish Peninsula. He gave renewed life to the force. A battery of twelve and eighteen pounders and a howitzer was planted so as to command theCarolina, and by means of hot shot, on the night of the 27th, she was set on fire and destroyed. TheLouisiana, the only remaining American vessel, escaped with difficulty. Pakenham arranged his army in two columns, one under Keane and the other under Gibbs, and moved forward, driving in the American outposts, and then encamped during the night, where the riflemen annoyed them and prevented them from much sleep. The next morning at dawn they moved to the attack, two to one in numbers and confident of success. But they met with an unexpected resistance. The Baratarians and the crew of theCarolinacame up, and opened on them with twenty-four pounders, while the fire of theLouisianafrom the river enfiladed their line, doing terrible damage. On the right, Gibbs was not more successful, though less terribly punished, and Pakenham was compelled to order a retreat, which on the leftbecame disorderly. The comparative loss was remarkable—the Americans had seventeen killed and wounded, and the British about one hundred and fifty—owing, doubtless, to the terrible oblique fire of theLouisiana.PLAIN OF CHALMETTE.—BATTLE-GROUND.At the council of war called that evening, it was determined to land heavy siege guns from the ships, to throw up redoubts, and prepare for a regular and concerted attack. During the next few days this was carried out, and several attempts were made to break the American line. The fighting went on, until Sir Edward, finding he could make no impression, concluded to hazard all in a stroke and carry the works by storm.JOHN COFFEE.Jackson during all this time was energetically at work strengthening his position. On the 4th of January his forces were increased by the arrival of General Thomas, with two thousand drafted men from Kentucky, raw and undisciplined, but for defensive work useful, being cool, brave, and good marksmen. His intrenchments were carried into the swamp to prevent being flanked, and batteries were placed in proper positions on the lines on both sides of the river. Behind the levee on Jourdan’s plantation, Commander Patterson had placed a battery of heavy guns from his schooner, and manned them with seamen. This battery commanding the front of the American lines, drove the enemy from Chalmette’s plantation to a point between Bienvenu and De la Ronde’s.On the 7th Major-general Lambert arrived with reinforcements, among the rest Sir Edward’s own regiment, the 7th Fusileers, bringing his force up to ten thousand men, the very flower of the British army. This was divided into three brigades, commanded by Generals Lambert, Gibbs, and Keane, and on the following morning an attack was to be made on both sides of the Mississippi. Thornton was to cross the river, and fall upon the Americans on that side before dawn. His guns were to be the signal for the main attack. He was detained, however, in the river, and the main attack was not made until daylight. Thornton was quite successful, but retreated when he learned of the terrible repulse on the other side of the river.The incidents of the main attack and the results will be found in the ballad.

ANDREW JACKSON.

There is no event in American history which seems to be so misunderstood, especially in details, as the battle fought in New Orleans after the close of the war of 1812. The commander of the Americans at that notable repulse became afterwards a prominent politician, or, rather, resumed his political career, and was twice elected President of the United States by the Democratic party, which his course in office aided to disintegrate. The contest during the three times he was a candidate was extremely bitter, and while he was lauded by his friends as a hero, patriot, and statesman, he was denounced by his foes as an illiterate ruffian, ignorant alike of military science and state-craft. The battle upon which his fame mainly rested, was said to have been won entirely by the folly of the British, who stupidly marched upon impregnable works, and were shot down easily by expert marksmen intrenched behind cotton-bales. This last error is amusing, and nothing will ever correct it. The embankment behind which most of the militia lay was formed of swamp-mud mainly, the best material possible for earthworks. A few cotton-bales had been used at one point, but one of them being fired, the dense smoke made it an annoyance, and it was speedily removed. That my readers may comprehend the affair, I give a brief account of the operations leading up to the fight.

The proclamations of Lieutenant-colonel Nichols at Pensacola, which, in violation of Spanish neutrality, he occupied with a British force, and the attempt of the enemy to obtain the aid and co-operation of Lafitte, the head of the Baratarian outlaws, had aroused the attention of Jackson, who acted with his usual promptnessand decision, without awaiting orders from the War Department. He had been satisfied of these designs before, through information obtained by means of his agents, and waited an opportunity to strike a blow at the combined British and Spanish enemy. He knew that New Orleans was to be the objective point of an expedition, and prepared for its defence. Recruiting went on slowly; the Southern Indians were openly or covertly hostile; but the failure of a naval and land attack on Fort Bowyer, repulsed with slaughter, and the loss of the flag-ship, disengaged most of the savages from alliance with Nichols, and brought in large numbers of volunteers. Jackson marched against Pensacola, where the British were intrenched, and proposed to the governor to occupy two of the forts with American garrisons until the Spanish government could send enough troops to make its neutrality respected. This the governor refused, when Jackson at once attacked the town, and after storming a battery, most of the forts were surrendered. Fort Barrancas was in the hands of the British, but before Jackson could attack it, the enemy abandoned and blew it up, and with the Spanish governor and troops embarked on the squadron and left the harbor. The American government gave a cold support, almost amounting to censure, for this necessary and justifiable action; but public opinion in the South and West sustained the commander of the Seventh Department.

VILLERÉ’S MANSION.

Jackson, who had gone to Mobile before this to look after its defence, received from Governor Claiborne the letter of Lafitte, giving the British propositions and their rejection, and learned that the citizens of New Orleans, under the lead of Edward Livingston, had organized a Defence Committee. He soon after left for New Orleans, where he arrived on the 2d of December. He found the people alarmed and discordant—the masses blaming the Legislature, the Legislature the governor, and the governor both. There was a lack of money, arms, ammunition, and men. It is true there were two militia regiments and a slender volunteer battalion, commanded by Major Planché, a brave creole officer;[1]but these were not sufficient to guard thecity, which contained a large amount of property, and had but meagre fortifications to protect its approaches. Jackson went actively to work to improve the condition of things by strengthening the forts, erecting new ones, obstructing the bayous, and establishing discipline.

“THE HERMITAGE,” JACKSON’S RESIDENCE, IN 1861.

On the 9th of December the British squadron, having on board over seven thousand troops, made their appearance and anchored near the entrance to Lake Borgne. Here they prepared to land. They were not aware of the revelations of Lafitte, and hoped to take the place by surprise. They soon learned their error. The late commodore (then lieutenant) Ap Catesby Jones was in command of our flotilla, and had sent out two gun-boats, under command of Lieutenant M’Keever and sailing-master Ulrick, to watch their approach. These reported the fleet to Jones on the 10th, and Jones made for Pass Christian, where the astounded enemy saw his flotilla at anchor on the 13th. As it was impossible to land troops under these circumstances, Admiral Cochrane manned sixty barges, each armed with a carronade and filled with men, to capture the tiny squadron, which was manned by one hundred and eighty-three men. He succeeded in this, with the loss of three hundred killed and wounded, after an hour’s fight. The American loss was only six killed and thirty-five wounded. This partly cleared the way for the enemy, who also discovered the passage through the Bayou Bienvenu. On the 22d, as many of the invaders as could find transportation embarked, and landing at the Fisherman’s Village, at the mouth of the bayou, captured most of the picket-guard. The men taken so represented the numbers of Jackson’s force that the invaders proceeded with more caution. They moved slowly up the bayou, and at Villeré’s plantation surrounded the house, and took Major Villeré, the commander of the pickets. He escaped, however, and carried the news to Jackson.

The American general in the mean while had not been idle. He had proclaimed martial law in the city, brought the troops to a state of discipline, infused his heroic spirit into the population, and sent messengers to Coffee, Carroll, and Thomas, urging them to move forward their commands as soon as possible. On the 22d, Carroll’s troops of Tennessee levies, all skilled riflemen, landed in New Orleans, and Coffee’s brigade of mounted rifles were encamped five miles above the city. As soon as the news of the enemy’s presence was brought to Jackson he determined to attack on the night of the 23d, both to check the enemy and to familiarize hisraw troops with their work. In the mean time the schoonerCarolinawas directed to drop down the river in the darkness, and open fire on the enemy’s camp. That fire would drive them upon the land-forces.

The affair was carefully managed and brilliantly carried out. The British were driven under the levee, and the troops, excited and triumphant, returned to the city in perfect order and with full confidence in their commander.

JACKSON’S TOMB.

The events of the night had somewhat depressed the spirits of the enemy, and on Christmas-day, which was cold and disagreeable, a gloom pervaded the British encampment. That day, however, their spirits were lifted by the arrival of Sir Edward Pakenham, “the hero of Salamanca.” Sir Edward was then in the prime of manhood, thirty-three years of age, brave, upright, and honorable, and altogether undeserving of the obloquy that so long hung over his memory as the reputed author of the asserted watchword—“beauty and booty.” He was among old friends, most of the troops there having fought with him in the Spanish Peninsula. He gave renewed life to the force. A battery of twelve and eighteen pounders and a howitzer was planted so as to command theCarolina, and by means of hot shot, on the night of the 27th, she was set on fire and destroyed. TheLouisiana, the only remaining American vessel, escaped with difficulty. Pakenham arranged his army in two columns, one under Keane and the other under Gibbs, and moved forward, driving in the American outposts, and then encamped during the night, where the riflemen annoyed them and prevented them from much sleep. The next morning at dawn they moved to the attack, two to one in numbers and confident of success. But they met with an unexpected resistance. The Baratarians and the crew of theCarolinacame up, and opened on them with twenty-four pounders, while the fire of theLouisianafrom the river enfiladed their line, doing terrible damage. On the right, Gibbs was not more successful, though less terribly punished, and Pakenham was compelled to order a retreat, which on the leftbecame disorderly. The comparative loss was remarkable—the Americans had seventeen killed and wounded, and the British about one hundred and fifty—owing, doubtless, to the terrible oblique fire of theLouisiana.

PLAIN OF CHALMETTE.—BATTLE-GROUND.

At the council of war called that evening, it was determined to land heavy siege guns from the ships, to throw up redoubts, and prepare for a regular and concerted attack. During the next few days this was carried out, and several attempts were made to break the American line. The fighting went on, until Sir Edward, finding he could make no impression, concluded to hazard all in a stroke and carry the works by storm.

JOHN COFFEE.

Jackson during all this time was energetically at work strengthening his position. On the 4th of January his forces were increased by the arrival of General Thomas, with two thousand drafted men from Kentucky, raw and undisciplined, but for defensive work useful, being cool, brave, and good marksmen. His intrenchments were carried into the swamp to prevent being flanked, and batteries were placed in proper positions on the lines on both sides of the river. Behind the levee on Jourdan’s plantation, Commander Patterson had placed a battery of heavy guns from his schooner, and manned them with seamen. This battery commanding the front of the American lines, drove the enemy from Chalmette’s plantation to a point between Bienvenu and De la Ronde’s.

On the 7th Major-general Lambert arrived with reinforcements, among the rest Sir Edward’s own regiment, the 7th Fusileers, bringing his force up to ten thousand men, the very flower of the British army. This was divided into three brigades, commanded by Generals Lambert, Gibbs, and Keane, and on the following morning an attack was to be made on both sides of the Mississippi. Thornton was to cross the river, and fall upon the Americans on that side before dawn. His guns were to be the signal for the main attack. He was detained, however, in the river, and the main attack was not made until daylight. Thornton was quite successful, but retreated when he learned of the terrible repulse on the other side of the river.

The incidents of the main attack and the results will be found in the ballad.

STATUE OF JACKSON IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL.

Here, in my rude log cabin,Few poorer men there beAmong the mountain rangesOf Eastern Tennessee.My limbs are weak and shrunken,White hairs upon my brow,My dog—lie still, old fellow!—My sole companion now.Yet I, when young and lusty,Have gone through stirring scenes,For I went down with CarrollTo fight at New Orleans.You say you’d like to hear meThe stirring story tell,Of those who stood the battleAnd those who fighting fell.Short work to count our losses—We stood and dropped the foeAs easily as by firelightMen shoot the buck or doe.And while they fell by hundredsUpon the bloody plain,Of us, fourteen were woundedAnd only eight were slain.The eighth of January,Before the break of day,Our raw and hasty leviesWere brought into array.No cotton-bales before us—Some fool that falsehood told;Before us was an earthworkBuilt from the swampy mould.And there we stood in silence,And waited with a frown,To greet with bloody welcomeThe bull-dogs of the Crown.The heavy fog of morningStill hid the plain from sight,When came a thread of scarletMarked faintly in the white.We fired a single cannon,And as its thunders rolled,The mist before us liftedIn many a heavy fold—The mist before us liftedAnd in their bravery fineCame rushing to their ruinThe fearless British line.Then from our waiting cannonLeaped forth the deadly flame,To meet the advancing columnsThat swift and steady came.The thirty-twos of CrowleyAnd Bluchi’s twenty-fourTo Spotts’s eighteen-poundersResponded with their roar,Sending the grape-shot deadlyThat marked its pathway plain,And paved the road it travelledWith corpses of the slain.Our rifles firmly grasping,And heedless of the din,We stood in silence waitingFor orders to begin.Our fingers on the triggers,Our hearts, with anger stirred,Grew still more fierce and eagerAs Jackson’s voice was heard:“Stand steady! Waste no powder!Wait till your shots will tell!To-day the work you finish—See that you do it well!”Their columns drawing nearer,We felt our patience tire,When came the voice of Carroll,Distinct and measured, “Fire!”Oh! then you should have marked usOur volleys on them pour—Have heard our joyous riflesRing sharply through the roar,And seen their foremost columnsMelt hastily awayAs snow in mountain gorgesBefore the floods of May.They soon re-formed their columns,And, ’mid the fatal rainWe never ceased to hurtle,Came to their work again.The Forty-fourth is with them,That first its laurels wonWith stout old AbercrombieBeneath an eastern sun.It rushes to the battle,And, though within the rearIts leader is a laggard,It shows no signs of fear.It did not need its colonel,For soon there came insteadAn eagle-eyed commander,And on its march he led.’Twas Pakenham in person,The leader of the field;I knew it by the cheeringThat loudly round him pealed;And by his quick, sharp movementWe felt his heart was stirred,As when at SalamancaHe led the fighting Third.I raised my rifle quickly,I sighted at his breast,God save the gallant leaderAnd take him to his rest!I did not draw the trigger,I could not for my life.So calm he sat his chargerAmid the deadly strife,That in my fiercest momentA prayer arose from me—God save that gallant leader,Our foeman though he be!Sir Edward’s charger staggers;He leaps at once to ground.And ere the beast falls bleedingAnother horse is found.His right arm falls—’tis wounded;He waves on high his left;In vain he leads the movement,The ranks in twain are cleft.The men in scarlet waverBefore the men in brown,And fly in utter panic—The soldiers of the Crown!I thought the work was over,But nearer shouts were heard,And came, with Gibbs to head it,The gallant Ninety-third.Then Pakenham, exulting,With proud and joyous glance,Cried, “Children of the tartan—Bold Highlanders—advance!Advance to scale the breastworks,And drive them from their hold,And show the stainless courageThat marked your sires of old!”His voice as yet was ringing,When, quick as light, there cameThe roaring of a cannon,And earth seemed all aflame.Who causes thus the thunderThe doom of men to speak?It is the Baratarian,The fearless Dominique.Down through the marshalled ScotsmenThe step of death is heard,And by the fierce tornadoFalls half the Ninety-third.The smoke passed slowly upward,And, as it soared on high,I saw the brave commanderIn dying anguish lie.They bear him from the battleWho never fled the foe;Unmoved by death around themHis bearers softly go.In vain their care, so gentle,Fades earth and all its scenes;The man of SalamancaLies dead at New Orleans.But where were his lieutenants?Had they in terror fled?No! Keane was sorely woundedAnd Gibbs as good as dead.Brave Wilkinson commanding,A major of brigade,The shattered force to rallyA final effort made.He led it up our ramparts,Small glory did he gain—Our captives some; some slaughtered,And he himself was slain.The stormers had retreated,The bloody work was o’er;The feet of the invadersWere soon to leave our shore.We rested on our riflesAnd talked about the fight,When came a sudden murmurLike fire from left to right;We turned and saw our chieftain,And then, good friend of mine,You should have heard the cheeringThat rang along the line.For well our men rememberedHow little, when they came,Had they but native courage,And trust in Jackson’s name;How through the day he labored,How kept the vigils still,Till discipline controlled us—A stronger power than will;And how he hurled us at themWithin the evening hour,That red night in December,And made us feel our power.In answer to our shoutingFire lit his eye of grey;Erect, but thin and pallid,He passed upon his bay.Weak from the baffled fever,And shrunken in each limb,The swamps of AlabamaHad done their work on him;But spite of that and fasting,And hours of sleepless care,The soul of Andrew JacksonShone forth in glory there.

Here, in my rude log cabin,

Few poorer men there be

Among the mountain ranges

Of Eastern Tennessee.

My limbs are weak and shrunken,

White hairs upon my brow,

My dog—lie still, old fellow!—

My sole companion now.

Yet I, when young and lusty,

Have gone through stirring scenes,

For I went down with Carroll

To fight at New Orleans.

You say you’d like to hear meThe stirring story tell,Of those who stood the battleAnd those who fighting fell.Short work to count our losses—We stood and dropped the foeAs easily as by firelightMen shoot the buck or doe.And while they fell by hundredsUpon the bloody plain,Of us, fourteen were woundedAnd only eight were slain.

You say you’d like to hear me

The stirring story tell,

Of those who stood the battle

And those who fighting fell.

Short work to count our losses—

We stood and dropped the foe

As easily as by firelight

Men shoot the buck or doe.

And while they fell by hundreds

Upon the bloody plain,

Of us, fourteen were wounded

And only eight were slain.

The eighth of January,Before the break of day,Our raw and hasty leviesWere brought into array.No cotton-bales before us—Some fool that falsehood told;Before us was an earthworkBuilt from the swampy mould.And there we stood in silence,And waited with a frown,To greet with bloody welcomeThe bull-dogs of the Crown.

The eighth of January,

Before the break of day,

Our raw and hasty levies

Were brought into array.

No cotton-bales before us—

Some fool that falsehood told;

Before us was an earthwork

Built from the swampy mould.

And there we stood in silence,

And waited with a frown,

To greet with bloody welcome

The bull-dogs of the Crown.

The heavy fog of morningStill hid the plain from sight,When came a thread of scarletMarked faintly in the white.We fired a single cannon,And as its thunders rolled,The mist before us liftedIn many a heavy fold—The mist before us liftedAnd in their bravery fineCame rushing to their ruinThe fearless British line.

The heavy fog of morning

Still hid the plain from sight,

When came a thread of scarlet

Marked faintly in the white.

We fired a single cannon,

And as its thunders rolled,

The mist before us lifted

In many a heavy fold—

The mist before us lifted

And in their bravery fine

Came rushing to their ruin

The fearless British line.

Then from our waiting cannonLeaped forth the deadly flame,To meet the advancing columnsThat swift and steady came.The thirty-twos of CrowleyAnd Bluchi’s twenty-fourTo Spotts’s eighteen-poundersResponded with their roar,Sending the grape-shot deadlyThat marked its pathway plain,And paved the road it travelledWith corpses of the slain.

Then from our waiting cannon

Leaped forth the deadly flame,

To meet the advancing columns

That swift and steady came.

The thirty-twos of Crowley

And Bluchi’s twenty-four

To Spotts’s eighteen-pounders

Responded with their roar,

Sending the grape-shot deadly

That marked its pathway plain,

And paved the road it travelled

With corpses of the slain.

Our rifles firmly grasping,And heedless of the din,We stood in silence waitingFor orders to begin.Our fingers on the triggers,Our hearts, with anger stirred,Grew still more fierce and eagerAs Jackson’s voice was heard:“Stand steady! Waste no powder!Wait till your shots will tell!To-day the work you finish—See that you do it well!”

Our rifles firmly grasping,

And heedless of the din,

We stood in silence waiting

For orders to begin.

Our fingers on the triggers,

Our hearts, with anger stirred,

Grew still more fierce and eager

As Jackson’s voice was heard:

“Stand steady! Waste no powder!

Wait till your shots will tell!

To-day the work you finish—

See that you do it well!”

Their columns drawing nearer,We felt our patience tire,When came the voice of Carroll,Distinct and measured, “Fire!”Oh! then you should have marked usOur volleys on them pour—Have heard our joyous riflesRing sharply through the roar,And seen their foremost columnsMelt hastily awayAs snow in mountain gorgesBefore the floods of May.

Their columns drawing nearer,

We felt our patience tire,

When came the voice of Carroll,

Distinct and measured, “Fire!”

Oh! then you should have marked us

Our volleys on them pour—

Have heard our joyous rifles

Ring sharply through the roar,

And seen their foremost columns

Melt hastily away

As snow in mountain gorges

Before the floods of May.

They soon re-formed their columns,And, ’mid the fatal rainWe never ceased to hurtle,Came to their work again.The Forty-fourth is with them,That first its laurels wonWith stout old AbercrombieBeneath an eastern sun.It rushes to the battle,And, though within the rearIts leader is a laggard,It shows no signs of fear.

They soon re-formed their columns,

And, ’mid the fatal rain

We never ceased to hurtle,

Came to their work again.

The Forty-fourth is with them,

That first its laurels won

With stout old Abercrombie

Beneath an eastern sun.

It rushes to the battle,

And, though within the rear

Its leader is a laggard,

It shows no signs of fear.

It did not need its colonel,For soon there came insteadAn eagle-eyed commander,And on its march he led.’Twas Pakenham in person,The leader of the field;I knew it by the cheeringThat loudly round him pealed;And by his quick, sharp movementWe felt his heart was stirred,As when at SalamancaHe led the fighting Third.

It did not need its colonel,

For soon there came instead

An eagle-eyed commander,

And on its march he led.

’Twas Pakenham in person,

The leader of the field;

I knew it by the cheering

That loudly round him pealed;

And by his quick, sharp movement

We felt his heart was stirred,

As when at Salamanca

He led the fighting Third.

I raised my rifle quickly,I sighted at his breast,God save the gallant leaderAnd take him to his rest!I did not draw the trigger,I could not for my life.So calm he sat his chargerAmid the deadly strife,That in my fiercest momentA prayer arose from me—God save that gallant leader,Our foeman though he be!

I raised my rifle quickly,

I sighted at his breast,

God save the gallant leader

And take him to his rest!

I did not draw the trigger,

I could not for my life.

So calm he sat his charger

Amid the deadly strife,

That in my fiercest moment

A prayer arose from me—

God save that gallant leader,

Our foeman though he be!

Sir Edward’s charger staggers;He leaps at once to ground.And ere the beast falls bleedingAnother horse is found.His right arm falls—’tis wounded;He waves on high his left;In vain he leads the movement,The ranks in twain are cleft.The men in scarlet waverBefore the men in brown,And fly in utter panic—The soldiers of the Crown!

Sir Edward’s charger staggers;

He leaps at once to ground.

And ere the beast falls bleeding

Another horse is found.

His right arm falls—’tis wounded;

He waves on high his left;

In vain he leads the movement,

The ranks in twain are cleft.

The men in scarlet waver

Before the men in brown,

And fly in utter panic—

The soldiers of the Crown!

I thought the work was over,But nearer shouts were heard,And came, with Gibbs to head it,The gallant Ninety-third.Then Pakenham, exulting,With proud and joyous glance,Cried, “Children of the tartan—Bold Highlanders—advance!Advance to scale the breastworks,And drive them from their hold,And show the stainless courageThat marked your sires of old!”

I thought the work was over,

But nearer shouts were heard,

And came, with Gibbs to head it,

The gallant Ninety-third.

Then Pakenham, exulting,

With proud and joyous glance,

Cried, “Children of the tartan—

Bold Highlanders—advance!

Advance to scale the breastworks,

And drive them from their hold,

And show the stainless courage

That marked your sires of old!”

His voice as yet was ringing,When, quick as light, there cameThe roaring of a cannon,And earth seemed all aflame.Who causes thus the thunderThe doom of men to speak?It is the Baratarian,The fearless Dominique.Down through the marshalled ScotsmenThe step of death is heard,And by the fierce tornadoFalls half the Ninety-third.

His voice as yet was ringing,

When, quick as light, there came

The roaring of a cannon,

And earth seemed all aflame.

Who causes thus the thunder

The doom of men to speak?

It is the Baratarian,

The fearless Dominique.

Down through the marshalled Scotsmen

The step of death is heard,

And by the fierce tornado

Falls half the Ninety-third.

The smoke passed slowly upward,And, as it soared on high,I saw the brave commanderIn dying anguish lie.They bear him from the battleWho never fled the foe;Unmoved by death around themHis bearers softly go.In vain their care, so gentle,Fades earth and all its scenes;The man of SalamancaLies dead at New Orleans.

The smoke passed slowly upward,

And, as it soared on high,

I saw the brave commander

In dying anguish lie.

They bear him from the battle

Who never fled the foe;

Unmoved by death around them

His bearers softly go.

In vain their care, so gentle,

Fades earth and all its scenes;

The man of Salamanca

Lies dead at New Orleans.

But where were his lieutenants?Had they in terror fled?No! Keane was sorely woundedAnd Gibbs as good as dead.Brave Wilkinson commanding,A major of brigade,The shattered force to rallyA final effort made.He led it up our ramparts,Small glory did he gain—Our captives some; some slaughtered,And he himself was slain.

But where were his lieutenants?

Had they in terror fled?

No! Keane was sorely wounded

And Gibbs as good as dead.

Brave Wilkinson commanding,

A major of brigade,

The shattered force to rally

A final effort made.

He led it up our ramparts,

Small glory did he gain—

Our captives some; some slaughtered,

And he himself was slain.

The stormers had retreated,The bloody work was o’er;The feet of the invadersWere soon to leave our shore.We rested on our riflesAnd talked about the fight,When came a sudden murmurLike fire from left to right;We turned and saw our chieftain,And then, good friend of mine,You should have heard the cheeringThat rang along the line.

The stormers had retreated,

The bloody work was o’er;

The feet of the invaders

Were soon to leave our shore.

We rested on our rifles

And talked about the fight,

When came a sudden murmur

Like fire from left to right;

We turned and saw our chieftain,

And then, good friend of mine,

You should have heard the cheering

That rang along the line.

For well our men rememberedHow little, when they came,Had they but native courage,And trust in Jackson’s name;How through the day he labored,How kept the vigils still,Till discipline controlled us—A stronger power than will;And how he hurled us at themWithin the evening hour,That red night in December,And made us feel our power.

For well our men remembered

How little, when they came,

Had they but native courage,

And trust in Jackson’s name;

How through the day he labored,

How kept the vigils still,

Till discipline controlled us—

A stronger power than will;

And how he hurled us at them

Within the evening hour,

That red night in December,

And made us feel our power.

In answer to our shoutingFire lit his eye of grey;Erect, but thin and pallid,He passed upon his bay.Weak from the baffled fever,And shrunken in each limb,The swamps of AlabamaHad done their work on him;But spite of that and fasting,And hours of sleepless care,The soul of Andrew JacksonShone forth in glory there.

In answer to our shouting

Fire lit his eye of grey;

Erect, but thin and pallid,

He passed upon his bay.

Weak from the baffled fever,

And shrunken in each limb,

The swamps of Alabama

Had done their work on him;

But spite of that and fasting,

And hours of sleepless care,

The soul of Andrew Jackson

Shone forth in glory there.

FOOTNOTES:[1]Creole meant originally the native-born descendant of foreign white parents. It is now applied to the native whites in Louisiana. People outside of that state frequently misapprehend its meaning, and think the word denotes mixed blood.

[1]Creole meant originally the native-born descendant of foreign white parents. It is now applied to the native whites in Louisiana. People outside of that state frequently misapprehend its meaning, and think the word denotes mixed blood.

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