Chapter 1288: The Mississippi Campaign
"At that time, I was still an infantry captain. After the Americans launched their sudden attack, we only fought one battle, and then we began a continuous retreat."
As Major Macard recounted his story, devoid of embellishment and delivered in an unvarying tone, Baron Léotard felt as though he were right there, amidst the war on the Mississippi River.
"Commander, we can't keep wasting time here!" Captain Macard exclaimed, risking insubordination. He pushed past two guards and strode up to Napoleon, glancing north. "You know, once the Americans seize Baton Rouge, New Orleans will be incredibly difficult to defend.
"If we rush back now, we might still make it in time!"
Indeed, after the French Army's "defeat" at Woodville, Napoleon had continuously avoided battle and retreated, even abandoning the strategic town of Baton Rouge. At this point, he had fallen back to a wilderness area downstream of the Mississippi River.
Macard suspected that if the dense forest to the east hadn't blocked their marching route, Major Bonaparte would most likely have simply hidden back in New Orleans.
Staff Officer Souday, standing nearby, noticed Napoleon's indifferent demeanor and cautiously added:
"Commander, those Native American soldiers are clearly affected by our constant retreats. Every day, some are secretly deserting the army..."
"Don't worry about it; only the true warriors remain," Napoleon stated, lowering his telescope. He glanced at the grim-faced Macard. "Your post shouldn't be here."
Napoleon waved a hand. "You don't need to worry about Baton Rouge. Wayne won't attack there."
"Ah? Why?"
Napoleon gestured around him:
"He's been chasing us for half a month. Now that he sees us trapped in a 'quagmire,' he'll surely drop everything and rush here to wipe us out."
Macard followed Napoleon's hand, looking into the distance. To the south was a sharp bend in the Mississippi River, where engineers were building a pontoon bridge. To the east lay a vast, impassable forest. If they retreated west, it would mean opening the road directly to New Orleans.
Cold sweat immediately broke out on his forehead.
This place was simply too dangerous. If the Americans launched a sudden attack, they would be forced into a decisive battle.
At that moment, they had only two thousand European soldiers and fewer than 1,700 Native American soldiers – originally over 4,000 Native Americans, but more than half had fled during the previous retreats.
It was impossible to repel seven thousand American regular troops with such numbers.
"Then... then we should immediately abandon our baggage train and requisition civilian boats to cross the river!" Macard urged. "Otherwise, once the Americans arrive, it will be..."
Napoleon smiled.
"I am waiting for that moment."
The American forces did indeed abandon Baton Rouge, and they arrived quickly. Their vanguard appeared in the French Army's sight at two in the afternoon, clearly having executed a forced march.
The Native American companies to the north immediately grew agitated, retreating backward and almost mingling with the French soldiers in the rear.
The American Commander-in-Chief, Anthony Wayne, observed the surrounding terrain and excitedly told an officer beside him:
"Look, it's exactly as I predicted. The bend in the Mississippi River has slowed the Frenchmen down."
Several officers nodded, chuckling:
"We finally cornered these timid fellows."
"It's great to cut them off before they can escape back to New Orleans!"
"This is the best reward for our frantic march these past few days..."
A ranger wearing a felt hat rode up to report to Wayne:
"General, the French are building a pontoon bridge on the river to the south. However, it's only two-thirds complete."
Wayne was instantly overjoyed. He pointed to the wilderness west of the French Army, shouting:
"Colonel Green, immediately lead your cavalry to cut off the Frenchmen's retreat to the west."
He then turned and waved to a sharp-featured middle-aged officer:
"General Arnold, have the soldiers prepare. We'll launch a general assault in half an hour."
"Yes, Commander!"
Soon, the American Army's six cannons roared.
Several iron balls whistled through the French formation. The Native American soldiers, who had just barely managed to form ranks under the French officers' shouts, immediately fell into disarray once more.
Immediately afterward, nearly three thousand American troops, arrayed in a line formation, advanced rapidly toward the opposing positions, their synchronized steps urged on by the military drums.
At the same time, over six hundred American cavalry wheeled around to the French Army's left flank, followed by five hundred infantry assigned to support the interception.
Only then did the French Army finally have two Six-Pounder cannons begin to return fire.
Major Lincoln, an American staff officer, watched the disorganized French Native American soldiers through his telescope, frowning. He turned to Wayne, saying, "General, although the enemy forces are very chaotic, they haven't broken formation. Could there be some kind of ploy...?"
Wayne snorted dismissively. "We have an overwhelming advantage in combat power. The French can't withstand a frontal assault; any trick they try will be useless."
Lincoln hesitated. "General, I heard that the French commander, Bonaparte, once defeated a hundred thousand Austrian troops on the Italian battlefield."
"That battle was commanded by General Dumouriez," Wayne said, proudly glancing at the other side of the battlefield. "Bonaparte is nothing but an exile."
As the American infantry line formation and the Native American soldiers drew closer, the latter, unable to restrain themselves, began to fire first.
There were no synchronized volleys; flashes of gunfire erupted randomly everywhere, which finally made Lincoln relax. "I believe I was overly cautious, General."
However, he didn't notice that while the Native Americans' shooting was disorganized, it was causing real casualties.
Soldiers in the advancing American line formation continuously grunted and fell.
They, too, soon returned fire with volleys, but most of the Native Americans were hidden among the tall grass and trees, significantly reducing the effectiveness of their shooting.
Once the Native Americans had reloaded their muskets—after three or four months of training, their reloading speed was now quite close to that of American soldiers—they would leap out from their hiding spots to fire. They would then slowly retreat backward, following the whistle calls of their leaders.
Although they lacked military drums, standard-issue officers at various ranks, and even uniform attire, these Native Americans, fighting in their traditional tribal manner, achieved seventy to eighty percent of the effectiveness of European skirmishers.
However, as Wayne had said, the American Army's advantage was simply too great.
Under the cover of their cannons, they quickly pushed the Native American skirmishers back to the line formation composed of French and Spanish soldiers.
The sound of military drums and the shouts of the Native American leaders blended together. The Native American soldiers moved aside, revealing the main French force armed with Charleville Flintlock Muskets.
And, on the hills to the east, three Twelve-Pounder cannons and three Six-Pounder cannons.
As a true "cannon enthusiast," how could Napoleon not have artillery prepared? His only request to the Governor of Saint-Louisiane was to buy a batch of cannons at a high price from the Spanish army in Mexico.
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