Sherman thought about this and a slow smile broke out on his face. “Of course. The last thing we want to do is face them head on and fight them on their terms. You want them to advance so we can get in behind them. Cut them off from Biloxi and their lines of supply. Maroon them in the center of a hostile countryside, then wipe them out.”

“Exactly. Our strength will be in surprise. What we are going to do is bypass them by rail. There is a junction at Hattiesburg where two rail lines cross. We are going to change there to the cars of the Gulf and Ship Island Railway. Then straight south to Gulfport. In this way we will get behind them and cut them off. Hopefully separate them from their ships and their supplies. Run a noose around them — then kill them. That is what we are going to do.”

Sherman nodded. “An excellent plan, excellent indeed.”

They heard the shrill moan of the steam whistle from the train yard when they entered the outskirts of Corinth. The men were in great spirits and cheered as they marched. Smoke boiled from the diamond stack of the engine as she got up steam. Another locomotive waited on the siding ready to make up a second train as soon as the first one left.

“I don’t want to divide our command,” Beauregard said.

“A wise precaution,” Sherman agreed. “I feel it would not be wise to march my bluecoats through Mississippi without you at my side. I suggest that we board one of your regiments and my 53rd Ohio on the first train. The rest of the men, guns and supplies to follow. We will all form up again at Gulfport.”

The telegraph keys clicked steadily up and down the length of Mississippi. All normal railroad traffic was suspended and sidetracked to let the military trains go by. Through the heat of the day and into the evening the trains rolled south. There was some confusion at Hattiesburg when the change from one railroad line to another was made. But the soldiers worked together with good will; the loading finished after dark and the final leg of the journey began. The great kerosene headlight of the engine cut a swath through the darkness of the pine slashes. The soldiers, more subdued now after the tiring day, dozed on the seats and in the aisles.

Gulfport. End of the line and end of train travel. A Confederate cavalryman was waiting as the two generals climbed down from the car; he saluted them both.

“Captain Culpepper, he sent me here to wait for y’all. Said to tell you that those English soldiers have stopped for the night, no more than a couple of miles outside of Handsboro.”

“How far are we from Handsboro?” Beauregard asked.

“Easy ride, General. Nor more’n ten, twelve miles.”

“We have them,” Sherman said.

“We do indeed. We march now. Get between them and Biloxi during the night. Then we shall see what the morning brings.”

The USS Rhode Island did not try to outrun the British warships, probably could not. Instead she tied up at the wharf of Deer Island, guns rolled out and waiting, under the protection of the 30-pounders of the battery. The British ships nosed close, but beat a speedy retreat when the batteries fired a salvo that sent spouts of water close around them. When the British ships had rejoined the fleet, and showed no evidence of returning, Rhode Island slipped her lines and steamed east.

Before she had been forcefully impressed into the navy and sent to join the blockading fleet, the Rhode Island had been a coastal ferry. Her engines were old but reliable. With a good head of steam — and the safety valve tied down — she could do a steady seven knots. She was doing this now, her big side-wheels churning steadily, driving her east along the coast at her best possible speed.

“You saw them clear as I did, Larry, didn’t you?” Captain Bailey asked — and not for the first time.

“Sure did, Captain, no missing a fleet that size,” the first mate said.

“And the way that sloop sailed up toward us, bold as brass,” the captain said. “That old Union Jack flapping away top of her mast. We’re at war and there she was running right up to the guns of the battery. Commander should have held his fire a mite longer.”

“I think he hit her a couple of times.”

“May be. At least she skedaddled and led us right up to the others.”

“Never saw an ironside like that English one before.” The captain looked out at the coast of Mississippi slowly moving by. “What do you think? About another four hours to Mobile Bay?”

“About.”

“I’ll bet the admiral will be mighty interested in what we got to report.”

“Every ship in the blockade there will be more than interested. Isn’t the Monitor supposed to be joining them about now?”

“Should be. I read the orders. Supposed to join the others in the blockade just as soon as the new Monitor-class iron ship, the Avenger, got to Hampton Roads to take her place.”

“I’ll bet the boys on the Monitor will be more keen than anyone else. They must have been mighty tired of just being the cork in the bottle, looking out for the Merrimack to appear again. I hear she has a new commander?”

“Lieutenant William Jeffers, a good man. Poor Worden, wounded in the eyes. Shell hit the lookout slit, blew scrap into his eyes. Blind in one and the other not too good. Jeffers will be interested in our report.”

“Everyone will be mighty interested as soon as word of all this gets to Washington.”

AN ARMY DIES

The night was quiet and hot. And damp. Private Elphing of the 3rd Middlesex looked about in the predawn darkness, then loosened his stock. He was tired. This was his second night on guard just because he had got drunk with the others. And he hadn’t even gotten near the women, had been too drunk for that. There were fireflies out there, strange insects that glowed in the night. Peaceful too, the easy breeze carried scents of honeysuckle, roses and jasmine.

Was something moving? The sky was lightening in the east so that when he leaned out from behind the tree he could clearly make out the dark figure lying in the underbrush. Yes by God — that was one and there were others as well! He fired his musket without taking time to aim. Before he could raise his voice to sound the alarm the bullets from a dozen rifled guns ripped through him and he fell. Dead before he hit the ground.

The bugles sounded and the British soldiers threw off their blankets and seized up their guns to return the fire that was now tearing into them from the scrub and trees next to their camp.

Emerging from his tent, General Bullers understood clearly from the severity of the firing that destruction might be just minutes away. The flashes of the guns and drifting clouds of smoke indicated that he was under attack by a sizable force. With cannon as well he realized as the first shells tore through the ranks of the defenders. And the attack was from his rear — they were between his forces and the landing beach.

“Sound the retreat!” he shouted to his officers as they ran up. A moment later the clear notes of the bugle call sounded.

It was a fighting retreat, not a rout, because these men were veterans. After firing at the approaching line of men they would fall back in an orderly fashion — and not run away. As dawn came they could make out the rest of the division in rough lines, falling back, firing as they went. But with every footstep they moved away from the beach and any hope of salvation. In small groups they worked their way to their rear, stopping to reload and fire again while their comrades went past them. They had no time to regroup. Just fight. And find a place where they could make a stand.

Sergeant Griffin of the 67th South Hampshire felt the bullet strike the stock of his musket so hard that it spun him about. The attacking line was almost upon him. He raised his gun and fired at the man in the blue uniform who rose up just before him. Hit him in the arm, saw him drop his gun and clutch at the wound. The soldier next to him shouted out a shrill cry and sprang forward his bayonet coming up in a long thrust — that put the point into the sergeant’s chest even as he was raising his own weapon. The bayonet twisted free and blood spurted from the terrible wound. The sergeant tried to lift his gun, could not, dropped it and slid after it. His last wondering thought as he died was why his killer was wearing gray. The other soldier blue…