"So," he said, "what shall I do with you? Strictly speaking, you are not a prisoner of war, since you are not a soldier or even a free man… would you like to be?" He raised an eyebrow. "My orders are to free any slaves who wish to join our forces."
"I would like to be free," I told him. "I have, however, no wish to join your forces or any others."
"Ah. Want to be your own man, eh? A worthy ambition, by God." He actually chuckled, very softly and very briefly. "Well, for the moment, I think you had best remain with us. You have seen quite a lot, I'm sure, whilst waiting about."
That was true; I had had nothing to but watch, while men and guns came ashore from the transports and were formed up in order and sent marching northward along the river road. It had been an impressive sight, and not an encouraging one from the Imperial viewpoint.
"You might," Wellington added, "be tempted to run back to your master. I'm sure he'd be interested in what you could tell him. Better to keep you out of temptation's way."
And so I spent the next two days as a prisoner who was not quite a prisoner. The distinction was largely ignored by the soldiers, who made me do various menial tasks about the camp, and occasionally kicked me for no particular reason.
It was from the British side, then, that I watched the final Battle of New Orleans. Not being a soldier, I could make little sense of what I saw-not that I could see much anyway, from where I stood near a battery of unreasonably loud cannon.
But I could see that the outcome was not much in doubt. The British obviously had an overpowering superiority in artillery-the defenders having lost so many guns at English Turn, and the invaders having brought plenty of their own; a child could have seen the discrepancy at a glance, once the battle was joined. Wellington's gunners-joined by Nelson's seamen, who had brought heavy ships' cannon ashore to reinforce the army-turned a devastating storm of shot on the Imperial lines, answered only by weak and scattered fire. Even standing to the rear, I was deafened and well-nigh blinded by the steady and excruciating roar, and my bowels felt very loose; I cannot imagine what it must have been like for those who were its targets. I had had no idea that war was such a noisy and messy business. It looked so much neater in the paintings and engravings.
Then Wellington's infantry advanced in their implacable ranks, and after that I lost any real grasp of what was going on. I could see the battle only as a distant indistinct dark line-one that soon began to grow even more distant, moving first raggedly and slowly, then with much greater speed, to the north, in the direction of the city.
"Buggers are running again," one of my guards observed. "That's it, then. Be a jolly old time tonight in Noo Orleens."
At some point, late in the afternoon, my guards simply disappeared. Heading for the city, no doubt, not wanting to miss out on the looting and general sport.
After an irresolute pause, I set off in that direction myself, walking along the river road. No one paid me any mind; everyone was hurrying toward the city. Already plumes of smoke had begun to appear above the rooftops, indicating that this was going to be a long night.
Then suddenly there was a stir of activity up ahead and I saw the Duke of Wellington sitting on his horse by the roadside, taking reports from dispatch riders and conferring with some officers. I started to detour around the scene, only to be stopped short by Wellington's voice: "You there! The Emperor's servant!"
I turned and walked back and looked up at the Duke. "Well," he said, "your master has lost the hand. And, I believe, the game."
"Yes, sir," I said, blank-faced.
"He seems to have given us the slip," Wellington said. "Would you know anything about that? Ever hear anything to suggest what plans your Emperor might have made, for a contingency such as this?"
"No, sir. I do not believe," I said truthfully, "he ever seriously envisioned such an event."
"Ah, yes. Quite." A quick nod. "Well, well, no matter." To an officer at his side he added, "Boney's done for, no matter where he's gone. Now we hold New Orleans, the Empire can be strangled at our pleasure."
"And then," the officer said, "perhaps we shall see about the damned Yankees and their so-called United States of America."
"Very possibly." The Duke shook his head. "Please God, not until after I have relinquished command to some younger man. I grow tired. I wish to go home."
To me, then: "Go your way, then. You are free-at least insofar as His Britannic Majesty's forces are concerned. If you ever do see your master again, thank him for the carriage. I intend to ride in it, when I enter his city tomorrow."
"On New Year's Day," another officer murmured.
"Why, yes. So it will be," the Duke said, sounding surprised. "Do you know, I had forgotten."
It was dark by the time I made my way into the city. It was a dangerous time to walk the streets; British soldiers were everywhere, helping themselves to whatever struck their fancy-including any women so foolish, or adventurous, as to be caught out-of-doors. From every direction came the sounds of breaking glass, male shouts and female screams, and the odd gunshot.
A hand grabbed my arm and jerked me into the mouth of a dark alley; another hand clamped itself over my mouth. A familiar voice hissed in my ear, "Quiet, now, Albert!"
Released, I turned and said, "It's all right. There's no one nearby."
"Good," Houston said, and Crockett grunted agreement. "Where you been?"
"You wouldn't believe me," I said, "What happened? Today, I mean?"
"Just like I was afeared," Crockett said. "Our boys broke. Stood their ground pretty good at first, but then they seen them redcoats coming on and on, never missing a step, never making a sound, sun shining off them bayonets, it was too much."
"The Tennessee militia broke first," Houston added. "And then the Kentuckians, on the left. But then everybody was taking off. Nearly, anyway. The ones who didn't mostly got bayonetted or captured, I guess."
"Jackson's dead," Crockett said with a certain satisfaction. "Tried to stop the rout, started hitting out with that God-damned sword of his, and somebody shot him right out of his saddle."
I said, "They say the Emperor has disappeared."
"He commandeered the St. Louis steamboat," Houston told me. "Guess that's where he's bound."
"Will you be joining him?" I asked. "If you can escape from the city?"
"No." Crockett spat. "Had enough of soljering. Me and Sam figure to head out west. Trap furs or something."
"Want to come along?" Houston grinned. "See the wild frontier."
"Thank you," I said, "but I think not. I believe I know where I can find employment. Once order has been restored, Madame Letitia's establishment should find itself doing a great deal of business. I'm sure she will need a good pianoforte player."
"Then so long." Crockett slapped me on the back. "And good luck."
"To you as well," I said, meaning it; though I had full faith in their ability to survive and escape, if any men alive could do it. "Bonne chance," I added, as they moved away down the alley.
"Yeah," Houston's voice drifted back through the darkness; and then, with a sardonic chuckle: "Vive l'Empereur…"
THE END