The attack did not falter nor hesitate. The British soldiers who tried to make a stand were wiped out. Those who fled were shot or bayoneted in the back.

A split-pine fence overgrown with creepers offered the first opportunity that General Bullers had seen to make any kind of a stand to halt the debacle.

“To me,” he shouted and waved his sword. “Forty-fifth to me!”

The running men, some of them too exhausted to go much farther, stumbled and fell in the scant shelter of the fence. Others joined them and soon a steady fire, for the first time, began coming from the British lines.

The attackers were just as tired, but were carried forward by the frenzy of their assault. Beauregard quickly formed a line facing the defended fence row, stretched them out in the thick grass.

“Take cover, load and fire, boys. Keep it up a bit until you get your wind back and the reinforcements get here. They’re coming up now.”

Sherman had seen what Beauregard had done and gathered men about him until he had a sizable force. He saw that the field guns were being limbered up to advance to new positions. He dared not wait until they were ready to fire because Beauregard was in a dangerous position. He had to be relieved. The standard bearer of the 53rd Ohio was close to Sherman when he ordered them forward. The British defenders saw the line of advancing men and turned their fire on this new threat. Bullets began to tear through the grass around them.

Sherman heard a cry of pain and turned to see that the colorbearer had been shot, was falling. Sherman eased him to the ground and took the wooden pole with the stars and stripes from the man’s limp hand. Held it high and signaled the charge.

The Union troops ran the last few yards and dropped to the ground among the Confederates who had been pinned down by the fire. Sherman, still carrying the flag, moved to join Beauregard who was sheltering in a small grove of trees with some of his officers and men.

“The guns are coming up,” Sherman said. “Let them put some shells into the British before we attack again. How is your ammunition?”

“Holding up fine. The boys seem to enjoy bayoneting to shooting today.”

Sherman looked about at the soldiers. Tired and weary, their faces and uniforms streaked with powder, they still looked a force ready to deal more destruction. The Confederate colorbearer was leaning his weight on the flagstaff to support himself. Sherman wanted to reload his pistol for this next attack, but he could not do this burdened with the flag. His thoughts were on the battle so, without conscious thought, he held the flag out to the Confederate soldier.

“Here you are, boy. You can carry two as easy as one.”

The tired soldier smiled and nodded, reached out and took the flag, bundled it with the one he already had.

No one seemed to notice; they were readying themselves for the attack.

At that moment, in the midst of battle, no one perceived that the Stars and Stripes and the flag of the Confederacy were conjoined.

Flying together as the order was given and the soldiers swept forward.

The Royal Marines had camped on the shore at Biloxi where they guarded the guns and stores. They had been alerted by the sound of firing to the west and were drawn up and preparing to march when the first of the retreating soldiers who had escaped the attack stumbled up. Major Dashwood strode to the staggering infantryman and pulled him around by his collar.

“Speak up — what is happening?”

“Attack… dawn. Surprised us. Got lots of guns, sir. Soldiers, masses of them too. General ordered retreat…”

“He didn’t order you to throw away your weapon.”

The major hurled the man to the ground and kicked him in the ribs with his heavy boot; the soldier screamed like a girl.

“I want all those defenses manned,” the major said striding up the beach. “Get those boxes and bales up, use them for cover as well. Wheel those cannon about. See that the men do a good job and a fast one. Lieutenant, you are in command until I return. I am going out there to find out what is going on.”

The horse, captured in the attack, was a wall-eyed brute and very skittish at the best of times. The major, with little riding skills, managed to clamber into the saddle with the aid of two marines. At an uncontrolled gallop he headed toward the sound of action. He found it quickly enough and managed to pull hard on the reins to drag the horse to a stop.

The cause was lost, that was obvious at a glance. English bodies covered the ground. They had taken many of the enemy with them — but not enough. The surviving British troops appeared to be surrounded and unable to escape. Surrounded by what was obviously a far superior force. He could counterattack with his marines. But they would be outnumbered as well — and certainly could not arrive in time to make any difference to the outcome of this battle. The intensity of the firing was dying down as the small circle of defenders grew ever smaller. A bullet kicked up sand nearby and he realized that he been seen by the skirmishers and was under fire himself. Reluctantly he turned the horse and galloped back to the beach.

When he saw that the defenses were manned and as strong as he could make them, he ordered the sailors to man one of the beached boats and made his way to the Warrior.

And total confusion. Boats from the other ships were crowded at the gangway and he had to wait until the senior officers went first. When he finally made it to the deck he saw that working parties were bumping into each other on deck, while others were aloft furling the mainsail to avoid scorching by smoke from the stack. The third officer, with whom he shared a cabin, was supervising the lowering of the aft telescopic funnel so he crossed the deck to him.

“Des, what’s happening? Are we going to sail?”

“Yes… and no.” He turned to bellow at a sailor. “You there — watch yourself! Lean into that line!” He motioned Dashwood aside, spoke quietly so the crewmen could not hear him.

“The admiral is dead — and apparently by his own hand.”

“I think I know why.”

“That island out there, you can just make it out on the horizon. That is Deer Island.”

Dashwood looked from island to shore. “And how did our wonderfully efficient navy make this mistake? A slight error in navigation?”

Dashwood smiled coldly at the officer’s discomfiture. “We discovered it this morning. General Bullers is now continuing the attack. I was to follow him as soon as the rest of the supplies are ashore. Now — I must report to the duke — ”

“Gone on the Java.”

“Then who is in command?”

“Who knows? The captain has called a meeting of senior captains in his cabin.”

“I have some more bad news for them.” He leaned close and whispered. “Buller has been attacked, defeated.” He turned and went below.

Two of his marines were stationed at the cabin door and jumped to attention when he appeared.

“Captain ordered us, sir. No entry…”

“Stand aside Dunbar — or I’ll strangle you with your own guts.”

The arguing captains looked up when the marine officer entered.

“Damn it, Dashwood, I left orders…”

“Indeed you did, sir.” He closed the door before he spoke. “I have the worst possible news for you. General Buller and his entire command are under attack. By now all of them have been killed or captured.”

“That cannot be!”

“I assure you that it is. I went there myself and saw what was happening. One of the soldiers who escaped can confirm this report.”

“Take your men — go to their aid!” The captain of the Royal Oak called out.

“Are you in command here, Captain?” Major Dashwood asked coldly. “My understanding is that with the admiral dead the captain of my ship commands my troops.”

“All dead?” Captain Roland said, apparently numbed by the news.