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That call came on Jan. 8, 1815, at Chalmette Plantation on the east bank of the Mississippi, downriver from New Orleans. The two armies had sharply but inconclusively skirmished two weeks earlier, on Dec. 23, 1814, to the south at Villeré Plantation. Since then, the British had cautiously advanced north, steadily closer to New Orleans, while Jackson dug in with his artillery batteries along Chalmette’s prime defensive ground, a small irrigation ditch known as Canal Rodriguez that faced the open Chalmette plain. The American soldiers took to calling their breastworks “Line Jackson.”

For several days in early January, the two sides pounded each other with artillery while the veteran British commander, Maj. Gen. Sir Edward Pakenham, brother-in-law to the Duke of Wellington, pondered his next move. Surveying the tactical situation, Pakenham initially thought it might be best to load his troops—most of who hailed from the West Indies—back onto ships and find a better location from which to invade and capture New Orleans.

For many years after the battle, a story circulated that British Vice Adm. Sir Alexander Cochrane had shamed Pakenham into a straightforward advance on Line Jackson by exclaiming that if Pakenham’s soldiers shrank from the task, his sailors would push forward, rout the “Dirty Shirt” Americans and then march into New Orleans while Pakenham’s men “bring up the baggage.” This is nonsense. In reality, Pakenham’s staff officers convinced him that his force was powerful enough, and Jackson’s 4,500-man army weak enough, that a frontal attack could prevail. At heart, the British officers apparently did not believe that a ragtag army comprised primarily of militia and backwoodsmen would stand and fight against the scarlet might of well-trained British soldiers. So, on the evening of January 7, Pakenham issued orders for an all-out assault on Line Jackson early the next morning. Despite the three prior clashes in December and January, this fourth engagement is the one generally referred to as the Battle of New Orleans.

On the day of battle, the 7th Regiment, which numbered some 400 men, found itself at the extreme right of Line Jackson, which stretched roughly a mile, west to east, from the river to a cypress swamp. Along the riverbank, they took up a key position that spanned about 150 yards of the line. With the river just spitting distance to their right, they could count on no support from that flank. Within this bottleneck, they were concerned that there would inevitably be gaps in the American fields of fire, allowing the British a chance to infiltrate Line Jackson, overwhelm the 7th Infantry and destroy the whole U.S. force.

Understanding the importance of their place on the line, the 7th Infantry soldiers spent the first week of January alternatively sweating and shivering as they dug and improved their muddy positions. According to regimental lore, the 7th Infantry troops buttressed their position with cotton bales and later fought behind them during the battle. But this is almost certainly not true. Cotton bales would have been a fire hazard during battle, with so much shell and shot in the air. The men of the 7th Infantry constructed earthen defenses, not cotton ramparts. Nonetheless, the cotton bale story would one day earn the regiment its colorful and unique nickname: “The Cottonbalers.”

As they dug in the muck, the men were constantly pelted with rain, which permeated their coats and trousers with a musty, sweaty odor. Practically no one had a clean uniform. White woolen trousers that had once looked flashy on parade in New Orleans were now spattered with rust-colored earth. Blue coats were smudged and unkempt. The men took small comfort in their standard Army rations—salted pork, bread and whiskey.

In the predawn hours of January 8, groups of British soldiers moved forward to prepare artillery positions on the swampy plain for the day’s attack. Others patrolled in the dark, ready to provide cover fire for the emplacements once completed. At 4 a.m. the rest of the British forces quietly advanced into their assault positions. Their skirmishers got to within 200 yards of Line Jackson.

All through the night the Americans had listened to digging and hammering from the British position. “We distinctly heard men at work in the enemy’s different batteries,” Arsene Lacarriere Latour, Jackson’s chief engineer, recalled in his memoirs. “The strokes of hammers gave ‘note of preparation,’ and resounded even within our lines; and our outposts informed us that the enemy was reestablishing his batteries. In our camp, all was composure; the officers were ordered to direct their subalterns to be ready on the first signal. Half the troops passed the night behind the breastwork, relieving each other occasionally. Everyone waited for day with anxiety and impatience, but with calm intrepidity; expecting to be vigorously attacked.”

The British plan was actually quite ingenious: While the artillery kept the American guns busy, the infantry would move forward in two waves. On their right flank, near the cypress swamp, the main infantry force was to advance on the edge of Line Jackson with ladders and fascines to get over the American breastworks. On the British left flank, along a levee road next to the river, light infantry would advance in column, overwhelm American redoubts and breach the ramparts of Line Jackson right where the 7th Infantry was situated. The two enemy forces would act as pincers designed
to trap a confused, reeling American army. It didn’t quite work out that way. For one thing, delays in executing the plan meant that the British began their attack not under cover of predawn darkness, but in broad daylight.

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