The Camden Journal

bowing again; good evening, Mr. Editor till after May next.

DEMOS KRATOS.

Camden, Feb. 4, 1840.

[From the N. O. Picayune, Jan. 8.]

THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS.

Twenty five years only have rolled away since New Orleans was the scene of an event which shall sparkle upon the page of history in all future time. The story of the Battle of New Orleans is one of those which, to all Americans, must present the mingled interests of the romantic, the chivalric, the terrible and the brave. Men fighting for their homes against an insolent foe whose watchword threatened a suffering worse than fire or slaughter— an infliction as disgraceful to the victor as to the vanquished. That watchword, "Beauty and Booty," was at once the onset cry and the death knell of the invader, for the Americans heard it in the shrieks of their wives and daughters; it thrilled through every vein and fibre of their frames, and "ten times trebled the natural energy of each single nerve" to sweep the enemy down to the dust before them.

If the history of that day is a page of glory for the Union; golden letters should record it in the annals of Louisiana.- Men are now among us who braved death and danger upon the battle ground of New Orleans in 1815-men who grasped the instruments of death to guard their firesides from the footsteps of their nation's foe; and who now remember the terrific roar of fire arms, the streams of gushing blood, and the shrieks of dying agony.- We envy those old patriots the delight they must feel to-day, and we doubt whether the veteran Jackson, when the nation bestowed upon him the highest honor in its gift, knew a prouder feeling than he must experience on this Eighth of January, 1840. We clip the following anecdote from an exchange paper. Perhaps there are those among the survivors of that day who may read it, and remember the incidents related:

Anecdote of the Battle of New Orleans. -A daring Tennessean, with a blanket tied around him, and a hat with a brim of enormous breadth, who seemed to be fighting on his own hook," disdaining to raise his rifle over the bank of earth and fire. in safety of his person, like his more wary fellow soldiers, chose to spring every time he fired, upon the breast work. where, balancing himself, he would bring his rifle to his cheek, throw back his broad brim. take sight and fire. while the enemy were advancing to the attack, as deliberately as though shooting at a herd of deer; then leaping down on the other side, he would reload, mount the works, cock his beaver, take aim and crack again.- "This he did," said an English officer, who was taken prisoner, and who laughingly related it as a good anecdote to Capt. D--, my informant as alluded to- "five times in rapid succession, as I advanced at the head of my company.- Though the grape whistled through the air over our heads, for the life of me I could not help smiling at his grotesque demi-savage. demi-quaker figure, as he threw back the broad flap of his castor to obtain a fair sight-deliberately raised his rifle-shut his left eye, and blazed away at us. I verily believe he brought down one of my men at every shot!" As the British resolutely advanced, though columns fell like the tall grain before the sickle, at the fire of the Americans, the same officer approached at the head of his brave grenadiers, amid the rolling fire of musketry from the lines of his unseen foes, undaunted and untouched. "Advance, my men," he shouted, as he reached the edge of the fossé-"follow me!" and sword in hand he leaped a ditch, and turning amidst the roar and flame of a hundred muskets to encourage his men, beheld to his surprise, but a single man of his company upon his feet-more than fifty brave fellows, whom he had so gallantly led on to the attack, had been shot down. As he was about to leap back from his dangerous situation, his sword was shivered in his grasp, by a rifle ball, and at the same instant a daring Tennessean sprang upon the parapet and levelled his deadly weapon at his breast, calmly observing, "Surrender, stranger-or, I may perforate ye!" "Chagrined," said the officer, at the close of his recital, "I was compelled to deliver to the bold fellow my mutilated sword, and pass over into the American lines.-The Southwest, by a Yankee."