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In the pre-dawn light of the January morning, fog clings to the banks of the Mississippi. The British and American armies have been camped across the river for over two weeks, staring at each other across the Line Jackson. The skirmish that will be recorded in the history books as the Battle of New-Orleans is about to take place.

Before the British are quite ready, however, the fog lifts. The call goes up and down the Line Jackson, cries for the Americans to open fire on the advancing British regiments. Even here, on the west bank of the river, the sound of the cannonade is overwhelming. Soon, the British bagpipers recover enough to begin their music, adding the drone of their ancestral instruments to the surreality of the morning.

Whether intentionally or no, the sounds across the river admirably disguise the brigade of Redcoats quietly advancing on the American flank positions on this shore. From the farmhouse where you and your companion observe the proceedings, the Redcoats seem to flit like angry ghosts between the cypress trees, obscured by the distance and the dispersing fog.

The Battle of New-Orleans is joined.

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