same day
that the British vanguard reached the river. Clad in coonskin caps
and fringed leggins, and {190} with their long rifles on their
shoulders, these rough pioneers came tramping into the city. They
were tall, gaunt fellows, with powder horns over their buckskin
shirts, and with hunting knives in their belts.

Colonel Coffee, too, had come with his regiment of mounted riflemen,
and was encamped five miles below the city.

Now Jackson knew that if he did not have time to throw up some
earthworks, the city was likely to fall. In his usual fiery way, he
made up his mind to attack the enemy that very night.

Meanwhile the British had built their camp fires along the levee, and
were eating their supper. Not once did they think themselves in
danger.

Soon after dark, a strange vessel, dropping quietly down the river,
anchored within musket shot. Some of the redcoats thought it best to
stir up the stranger, and so fired several times at her.

Suddenly a hoarse voice was heard, "Now give it to them, boys, for
the honor of America!"

It was the Carolina, an American war schooner.

At once shot and shell rained on the British camp, killing or
wounding at least a hundred men in ten minutes. The redcoats trampled
out their camp fires, and fled behind the levee for shelter.

This was a rather warm reception, but it became a great deal warmer
when Jackson charged into their camp. For two hours in the dark was
fought a series {191} of deadly hand to hand fights. The British used
their bayonets, the riflemen their hunting knives.

At last, a thick fog from the river made it impossible to tell friend
from foe. The redcoats retreated and found shelter behind the levee.
The Americans fell back about three miles and camped.

This bold night attack cost the British five hundred in killed and
wounded, and saved New Orleans from capture. Jackson had gained his
point. He had dealt the enemy a sudden, stinging blow.

[Illustration: General Jackson, nicknamed "Old Hickory"]

Christmas opened drearily enough for the invaders, but before night,
to their great joy, Sir Edward Pakenham arrived from England, and
took command. The British had now about ten thousand men, led by
three veterans. Surely, it would be nothing but boy's play for the
great Sir Edward to defeat the "backwoods general" and his motley
army. On his return home, his reward was to be a peerage.

Pakenham went to work bright and early the next morning. Within