Summary

Various Trotwood's Monthly, Vol. II, No… (1905)

The lean, sallow, booted man, his long legs dangling underneath his horse’s belly, galloping seemingly to defeat. This man of destiny, this man who believed in himself, this man who knew that God Almighty had sent him to whip the British, just as he knew he would kill Dickinson.
And the troops went down so merrily to death in that cloud of dust—what pathos, what patriotism, what sublime ignorance of what they were up against, what blind faith in Jackson and God went forth that day to fight the conquering, red English, who knew no such word as defeat, no such tactics as retreat.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Trotwood's Monthly, Vol. II, No… (1905)

No man can paint that battle in the dark, for no man ever saw such a fight in the dark before. The English fought nobly, but Jackson went right in on them, his men using their knives and rifle butts, and in the mix-up they knew not front from rear, nor friend from foe. Powder smoke settled, gray and sulphurous over the plain, half dimming an already cloud-dimmed moon. The fog added to it, and out of it, on the river, thundered the guns of the Carolina pouring shot into their ranks, and before them the sheeted fire of Jackson’s battery, up the levee, poured it in from the front.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Trotwood's Monthly, Vol. II, No… (1905)

Now, Providence had selected Jackson for this job.
Five miles below the city the street car lines stop, but it is an interesting walk to clamber up on the bermuda and melilotus-covered levee and follow the river to the Chalmette battlefield. The air is soft and warm, the big river sweeps splendid along, the beautiful old homes on the banks peep sleepily out from pecan and great moss-covered oaks. Far away to the southeast stretch plain and forest.
No wonder they fought for it, you say. Who would wish to die in a fairer land, under sunnier skies?
Source: Gutenberg

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