Chalmette Battlefield and National Cemetery – Remembering
When Edd and I first visited New Orleans to help as volunteers shortly after Katrina we made a number of friends at that time with whom we are still very close to today. One of those friends I call my little brother from another mother, and while he is a junior in years, Weston is a tall man of robust stature and a heart of gold, who we consider a member of our family. Our dear friend at the time was living in New Orleans and would adventure with us as often as his free time will allow. We also enjoy our time as pyrate reenactors based on the Battle of New Orleans. Weston is more often known as ‘Irish’, our Master Gunner.
If you have never been to New Orleans, it is a magical place filled with mystery and history. We consider it our second home, and we are always looking for interesting places to visit that aren’t the French Quarter or the Garden District. Early in our travels there, Weston suggested that we visit Chalmette Battlefield and the military cemetery that was on the property adjoining the historical site.
Chalmette Battlefield is not much in terms of visual, although there is a lovely old 19th century house (The original was burned to the ground by Andrew Jackson during the battle) on the site and a tall tower monument that if you are willing to hike up about 150 steps has a rather good view of the outlying area. For those who may not know, Chalmette Battlefield is where the Battle of New Orleans took place in the winter of 1815.
While it is nearly 1800 miles away from the main locations of the War of 1812, it was by far the most important and strategic location in the entire Colonies in that time. Its port was the largest and the commerce and location of the city made it the ideal stronghold for anyone who held it. The Spanish, the French, the early Americans all had their time in the city and the British wanted theirs as well. There is a long and rather varied collection of stories, truths and half-truths surrounding this city, and the Battle of New Orleans is no exception. As the Treaty of Ghent had already been signed between Britain and America, the battle should have never transpired. However, seeing there was no social media in the day, all anyone could rely on a very slow system of mail and exchanges of information through the “proper” channels.
The fact that it took just over a month for the treaty information to travel from Europe to America in 1815 is still pretty amazing all things considered, and we like to jokingly say that Jackson simply didn’t receive the memo in time.
To set up a visual as best I can, the Battle of New Orleans took place about eight miles outside what is now the larger expanded New Orleans in an area that was at that time home to a number of large sugar cane plantations. I could get into a lengthy history lesson here since I have a degree in Battlefield archaeology and Chalmette is one of the sites that I have studied, but I will save you from what might seem like boring details.
What I do need to touch on here however is the battle itself would have been lost if it had not been for the intervention (and I use that word liberally) by Jean Laffite (sometimes spelled, Lafitte – though not by him) and his men. Laffite referred to himself as a privateer and a businessman, and he and his brothers Pierre, Alexandre Laffite (aka “Dominique You”), and Napoleon’s best cannoneer (and New Orleans Vieux Carré resident), Renato Beluche were involved in smuggling, slave trading and other, what some might consider nefarious dealings within South Louisiana. Their story is really quite incredible and book worthy all on its own, but for the sake of brevity here, let’s say Laffite played both the British and the Americans against each other to find the best outcome for him and his men!
He was not a fan of Andrew Jackson; he did like the idea of what this early America stood for and basing his decision on that, he ultimately sided with the Americans and assisted Andrew Jackson in the Battle of New Orleans. Laffite supplied Jackson with skilled cannoneers like Beluche and additional men who weren’t afraid to die for a cause.
To set up the scene, it was a cold dreary January day in Chalmette when everything kicked off at the Villiere plantation. Over 4200 men fought on the American side. The battle was short but brutal with the Americans gaining the upper hand over the English who were at least twice their numbers. Lafitte’s men and supplies were what swayed the battle in the American’s favour that day. There were many casualties, mostly on the British side. Today you can find just a handful of men from this battle buried outside the wall of the old plantation in the Chalmette National Cemetery.
This location houses only graves and markers from the Revolutionary War, the Civil War and the War of 1812 – Battle of New Orleans. To set the stage and understand the lay of the land, the plantation sits on a bend in the Mississippi River with a levy surrounding the land on two sides. The cemetery stretches the length of the old plantation on the left-hand side and is self-contained with a low wall surrounding its entirety. There is an opening from the cemetery to the back of Chalmette Battlefield where on the left-hand side are buried numerous African American & Haitians in what is an unmarked area save a small plaque. This burial site is on the grounds of Chalmette Battlefield outside the National Cemetery.
The first time that we visited the cemetery (2011), we parked the car outside the gates at the cemetery entrance and walked slowly down the lane viewing the graves and markers that are set up in neat rows either side. This cemetery is organized by battle, regiment, and battalion, as well as having distinct sections for African American militiamen.
As we wandered down the lane way stopping every once in a while to view a certain grave and read the information on the headstone, we wondered what these men might have been doing at the time of their death, or what their lives were like before they arrived. Along the right-hand side of the cemetery as you move toward the monument at the end, you must walk past a section of marker stones which have no indication of who was buried underneath, if indeed anyone is underneath. They are memorial stones, each assigned a number.
Weston, Edd and I were chatting as we walked and at one point passing one of the stones someone called out to me. At least I could hear a man’s voice even if no one else could. In situations like this, my husband Edd is used to me randomly stopping or being called away by a spirit voice. As usual, I said “Hang on guys, I have to go see who is asking me to acknowledge them.”
We turned back and walked over to the stone I felt the voice was emanating from. I asked Edd to jot down the number on the top of the stone (great to have a personal assistant for a husband).
I’m horrible at remembering these things at that moment, and minor details get lost in my head. Edd wrote down the number as I listened. The headstone numbers are used as a cataloguing system because these soldiers died unknown. In some cases, no family ever claimed the body as the men had come from England, Scotland, and Wales, and were in America to try and make a better life for themselves. This stone that I was drawn to wasn’t any different from the hundred other ones surrounding it outside the fact that the person who had passed was able to reach out.
Interaction with a spirit can be fleeting or drawn out depending on their energy, or maybe it is my energy and ability to interact. I have yet to figure that bit out, even after 45 plus years. After jotting down the headstone number I asked Edd to take down the name I was given, Marcus Tenby. I found the name unusual, not common like John Smith or Mark Jones. Tenby was not a name I had ever heard before. While it takes time to write out all the details after the fact, in real time, it was merely a few minutes as we made our way down to the entrance of Chalmette Battlefield.
I remember it being a very hot day and Edd and Weston decided to sit down on the bench under a beautiful big oak tree that bridged the entrance between the battlefield and the cemetery. The tree had clearly been there for some time as it had absorbed several graves that were placed under it in its youth. The stones were barely visible and appeared to be trapped for eternity under the tree’s massive root system.
I made my way out onto the battlefield where there is a raised concrete platform and some information placards regarding the Battle of New Orleans. I was less interested in the placards at that moment than the beguiling crawfish castles that dotted the field. If you haven’t seen a Louisiana crawfish castle you really are missing something quite spectacular. These little creatures build themselves mud towers that can sometimes get as tall as 8 inches. While I was out viewing a few of these little feats of muddy architecture I took a few pictures with my phone and wandered back to the platform to have a look at the placards and then headed back towards the bench to have a seat.
I went to sit down, cool off and relax, although that didn’t happen. The last thing I remember was everything going dark. I looked up to see a few stars overhead and what I perceived as some heavy clouds. It was nighttime as I squinted in the dim light of a few campfires. I could smell the sulphur from gunpowder and I could hear a cannon firing. Looking to my left I could make out the faintest silhouette of a ship on the Mississippi River in the distance.
The clouds I now realized were not clouds at all, but smoke from the cannons firing into what I realized was an encampment of soldiers. Somehow I was no longer in the bright sunshine of an April afternoon but caught up in some horrific moment that I had no intention of visiting.
Two young boys, one about age fourteen, the other about seventeen ran past me in the chaos. The youngest one was crying and terrified in the dark, the older boy calling back in a British accent “Hurry up, make speed we have no time to waste”.
For a mere moment I felt like I had lost my mind, as I was caught up in the rush of men fleeing for their lives. We began running towards an area of swampy marshland. It was difficult to see in the dark, as we made our way into the reeds the ground gave way under our feet, and we sank knee-deep into the muck and water. It was cold, and a thin layer of ice covered some of the more open spots. It was cold, and the air hurt my lungs as I struggled to keep moving. I could see a tree line off in the distance to my right and the constant sound of rifle fire, commands being yelled at a distance and muffled screams.
I had somehow been drawn into what I still can’t explain…a vortex, a wormhole in time, some kind of otherworldly residual energy field? However, I ended up in that place in time is a mystery.
I now realize I was in the midst of a night battle between the British who were encamped to the left of what is now Chalmette Battlefield while the American ship the USS Carolina fired numerous volleys into the British encampment that dark, cold night.
For the purpose of understanding the attack on the British encampment here are some statistics from the battle:
“The Battle of New Orleans was remarkable both for its brevity and its lopsided casualties, though some numbers are in dispute and contradict the official statistics. Charles Welsh and Zachary Smith echo Adjutant-general Robert Butler’s official report to General Jackson which claimed that the British lost 285 killed, 1,265 wounded, and 484 prisoners in 25 minutes, a total loss of 2,084 men; American losses were 13 killed, 30 wounded, and 19 missing or captured. Around 484 British soldiers had pretended to be dead; they rose up and surrendered to the Americans when the shooting stopped. One bugle boy climbed a tree within 200 yards of the American line and played throughout the battle, with projectiles passing close to him. He was captured after the battle and considered a hero by the Americans.”
I don’t know how long I was running for, but eventually Edd and Weston caught up to me and grabbed me as I was trying to flee. Tears streaming down my face and exhausted I stood sobbing in the middle of the cemetery. Despite the desperate fear and chaos of that moment, what really brought this close to home for me was those two young lads. They were about the same age as my two youngest sons, and all I could think of was how scared and brave they were through all of it. The younger one had grabbed a hold of my hand as we ran and never let go. When my husband grabbed me suddenly, everything was gone. The boys, the darkness, the smell, the fear all of it gone in a flash, and I was back to the sunny afternoon and people who loved me.
It’s really hard to explain to people what happens when I fall into one of these vortexes or wormholes. Sometimes people think I am crazy…sometimes I think I am crazy. I am still after all these years skeptical about these experiences because they are often so unbelievable.
This was my first experience at Chalmette, but it certainly wasn’t my last. We return there every year and each time I have been lucky enough to connect with spirits that seem to be drawn back to this location. I don’t believe they actually reside within the walls of the cemetery or on Chalmette Battlefield itself, but I do believe that spirits have the ability to make themselves known to some of us. I explained my idea or concept of vibrational energy previously, and I adhere to this belief wholeheartedly.
A few other spirits that I have encountered in Chalmette Cemetery have proven to be interesting as well, giving me a glimpse into who they were. Their stories are known to me in a series of different sensory ways.
I want to go back and touch on one such spirit and the name Marcus Tenby, as I feel he deserves recognition. Marcus Tenby is not actually a given name, but a combination of the last name Marcus, and his town of origin in Tenby, Wales. After doing some digging and research, I discovered that during the Civil War a soldier with the last name Marcus had signed on with a Tennessee militia and had fought and died in Kentucky. There was very little other information about him or his life. Another young man lost to history, had he not spoken to me when he did (and my husband recording the name I heard).
The next time we visited Chalmette National Cemetery, I let one of the National Park employees know the marker number and who was associated with it. A soldier with the surname of Marcus from Tenby, Wales. The employee promised he would make a note of that in the registry of the cemetery and associate the name to the number on the stone.
Since I am still on the topic of spirits in the Chalmette National Cemetery and the battlefield I would also like to touch on another gentleman who came forward. His name is harder to decipher, but his story is equally interesting.
A number of years later we were once again walking through the cemetery when I felt as if I had been shot in the head and the chest. For those who have never been shot, I include myself in this. I can only describe the sensation as it is presented to me through the spirit. It may or may not feel in reality how I receive this information, but it is the only way I can describe the instances. In this case I will liken the sensation to being hit at close range with a small sharp stone that pierced the skin.
As this was happening I could hear a man’s voice, a young man with a heavy accent, perhaps Haitian or another Caribbean island. He repeated his name over several times as Elliot… Elliot Hanson or Johnson I could not quite understand the last name because the beginning part of it faded in and out as he spoke. At this point the spirit began edging me in a very specific direction along the left side of the cemetery about mid-way down the central lane. Elliot proceeded to guide myself and my husband through a rather extensive section of African American soldiers headstones to an area about three rows from the outside wall. After a few minutes of searching the rows we found a headstone that indeed said Elliott but a part of the stone on the bottom left had been broken off and the only visible letters were son. When we acknowledged the stone he disappeared.
This happens quite often to me. A spirit shows up, makes its point and vanishes. I never have a conversation, it is always very one-sided. In this case I believe Elliot was trying to make known that he was unhappy with the fact that the stone had never been repaired and that his last name has been lost to time. Most cemeteries do have records of all the stones/burials but sometimes these records are lost, destroyed or only partially complete.
Several of the Chalmette National Cemetery employees know me well now and when I take these occurrences to them, they no longer look at me like I have two heads. I am hoping that they do take the time to write the information down that I provide them with since it is obviously very important to those spirits who find me.
