the American Army defending New Orleans, which--under the leadership
of stout Andrew Jackson--now crouched behind the earthworks and cotton
bales, some miles from the city. Rockets shot into the air with a
sizzling snap. The roar of cannon shook the thin palmettos, and wild
British cheers came from the lusty throats of the British veterans of
Spain, as they advanced to the assault in close order--sixty men in
front--with fascines and ladders for scaling the defences. Now a
veritable storm of rockets hissed and sizzed into the American lines,
while a light battery of artillery pom-pomed and growled upon the
left flank. All was silence in the dun-colored embankments.

But look! Suddenly a sheet of flame burst from the earthworks where
lay the buck-skin-clad rangers from Tennessee and Kentucky: men who
had fought Indians; had cleared the forest for their rude log huts,
and were able to hit the eye of a squirrel at one hundred yards.
_Crash! Crash! Crash!_ A flame of fire burst through the pall of
sulphurous smoke, a storm of leaden missiles swept into the red coats
of the advancing British, and down they fell in windrows, like wheat
before the reaper. _Boom! Boom! Boom!_ The cannon growled and spat
from the cotton bales, and one of these--a twenty-four pounder--placed
upon the third embrasure from the river, from the fatal skill and
activity with which it was managed (even in the best of battle),--drew
the admiration of both Americans and British. It became one of the
points most dreaded by the advancing foe. _Boom! Boom!_ It grumbled
and roared its thunder, while Lafitte and his corsairs of Barrataria
rammed home the iron charges, and--stripped to the waist--fought like
wolves at bay.

Two other batteries were manned by the Barratarians, who served their
pieces with the steadiness and precision of veteran gunners. The enemy
crept closer, ever closer, and a column pushed forward between the
levee and the river so precipitously that the outposts were forced to
retire, closely pressed by the coats of red. On, on, they came, and,
clearing the ditch before the earthworks, gained the redoubt through
the embrasures, leaped over the parapet and quickly bayonetted the
small force of backwoodsmen who held this point.

"To the rescue, men," cried Lafitte, at this juncture. "Out and at
'em!"

Cutlass in hand, the privateer called a few of his best followers to
his side; men who had often boarded the decks of an East Indiaman an