And after these, under their white commander, defiled the Freemen of colour, and then passed down the road a band of a hundred Choctaw Indians in their war paint; last of all, the Regulars. Jackson still waited until a small dark schooner left the opposite bank of the river and slowly moved down the current. This was the "Carolina," under Commodore Patterson. Then Jackson clapped spurs to his horse, and, followed by his aids, galloped after his army.
The veteran corps took the patrol of the now deserted streets. The ladies retired from balcony and window, with their brave smiles and fluttering handkerchiefs, and, hastening to their respective posts, assembled in coteries to prepare lint and bandages, and cut and sew, for many of their defenders and Jackson's warriors had landed on the levee in a ragged if not destitute condition. Before Jackson left Fort St. Charles, a message had been sent to him from one of these coteries, asking what they were to do in case the city was attacked. "Say to the ladies," he replied, "not to be uneasy. No British soldier shall ever enter the city as an enemy, unless over my dead body."
As the rumoured war-cry of the British was "Beauty and Booty," many of the ladies, besides thimbles and needles, had provided themselves with small daggers, which they wore in their belts.
Here it is the custom of local pride to pause and enumerate the foes set in array against the men hastening down the levee road.
First, always, there was that model regiment, the Ninety-third Highlanders, in their bright tartans and kilts, men chosen for stature and strength, whose broad breasts, wide shoulders, and stalwart figures,
