The Battle of New Orleans 225 



through it the whip^like crack of the Tennesseean 

 rifles, called out the whole British army to the shock 

 of a desperate and uncertain strife. The young moon 

 had by this time struggled through the clouds, and 

 cast on the battle-field a dim, unearthly light that 

 but partly relieved the intense darkness. All order 

 was speedily lost. Each officer, American or Brit 

 ish, as fast as he could gather a few soldiers round 

 him, attacked the nearest group of foes; the smoke 

 and gloom would soon end the struggle, when, if 

 unhurt, he would rally what men he could and 

 plunge once more into the fight. The battle soon 

 assumed the character of a multitude of individual 

 combats, dying out almost as soon as they began, 

 because of the difficulty of telling friend from foe, 

 and beginning with ever-increasing fury as soon 

 as they had ended. The clatter of the firearms, the 

 clashing of steel, the rallying cries and loud com 

 mands of the officers, the defiant shouts of the men, 

 joined to the yells and groans of those who fell, all 

 combined to produce so terrible a noise and tumult 

 that it maddened the coolest brains. From one side 

 or the other bands of men would penetrate into the 

 heart of the enemy's lines, and would there be cap 

 tured, or would cut their way out with the prisoners 

 they had taken. There was never a fairer field for 

 the fiercest personal prowess, for in the darkness the 

 firearms were of little service, and the fighting was 



