Stars & Stripes Forever (22 page)

He went back down the slope to the encampment. But, despite what he had said, he made no attempt to go to the telegraph tent. Instead he went directly to his own tent. He spoke to the sentry on guard there.

"I am not to be disturbed until my officers assemble here. Tell them that they must wait outside. No one to be admitted to see me. No one at all—do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

He dropped into his camp chair and stared unseeingly into the distance, his fingers combing distractedly through his thin beard. There was an opportunity here, one that must be seized and grasped tightly before it escaped. Despite what he had said he had no intention of contacting Halleck, not yet. He needed time to think this through without any distractions. The course of action that he was considering was too personal, too irrational for others to understand.

Of course it was obvious just what he should do. It was his military duty to telegraph at once, to explain what had happened in Biloxi and to ask for orders. Surely when the generals and the politicians understood what the British had done, why then they would certainly agree to the armistice. A common enemy. Better having the Southern army fighting the British rather than threatening attack on the North.

But how long would it take the politicians to make their minds up?

Too long, he knew that. No one would want to take responsibility for the drastic action that Beauregard was asking for. Commanders would dither, then pass the decision on up the line. Dispatches would be telegraphed until, probably, the whole thing would end up in Abe Lincoln's lap.

And just how long would that take? Hours at least, probably longer. And the decision must be made now. Hard as it was he must take the responsibility himself. Even at the risk of losing his career, he must decide. If this opportunity were missed it would never occur again. He must decide for himself and act on that decision.

And he knew what that decision must be. He went over every possibility, and still returned to the single course of action.

When his officers had gathered he told them what he was going to do. He measured his words carefully.

"Gentlemen, like the North, the South has now been invaded by a British Army." He paused until this fact had sunk in, then went on. "I have just talked with General Beauregard who asked for a cease-fire to permit him to take his troops south to do battle with the enemy. He called the invaders 'our mutual enemy' and that is true. A cease-fire would certainly be very much in order at this time. It is certainly to our benefit as well."

He looked around at the officers who were nodding agreement. But would they agree with him if he went further?

"I want to grant this cease-fire. What would you say to that?"

"Do it, General—by all means!"

"You must, there is no choice."

"Every redcoat they whup is one that we won't have to worry about."

Their enthusiasm came naturally, was not contrived or exaggerated. But how far could he go?

"I am glad that we are in agreement on that." Sherman looked around at his excited officers. Chose his words with great care. "I propose to render even greater aid to our common cause.

"If you agree with me, I am going to take a regiment of infantry and join General Beauregard in his attack on the British."

The silence lengthened as they considered the impact of what Sherman was proposing. This went far beyond a single battle, a single joined conflict. There was the possibility of course that nothing would come of this decision other than a single battle—or it could lead to even more momentous events almost impossible to consider. It was Colonel Appier who spoke first.

"General, you are a brave man to suggest this without working up through the chain of command. I am sure that you have considered that and considered all of the possibilities of your actions. Well I have as well. I would like you to take the 53rd Ohio with you. The President has always looked for any means to shorten this war, to make peace with the Confederacy. I am in complete agreement with that. Let us aid in stopping this adventure, this invasion of our nation's shores. Take us with you."

A spark had been lit that burned all of them with enthusiasm. Captain Munch shouted agreement.

"Guns, you'll need guns. My 1st Minnesota battery will go with you as well."

"Will the men go along with this decision?" Sherman asked.

"I am sure that they will, General. They will feel just as we do—drive out the invaders of our country!"

While the orders were being issued Sherman went into his tent and wrote a report describing the actions he was taking, and why it was being done. He folded and sealed it and sent for General Lew Wallace in command of the 23rd Indiana.

"You agree with what is being done, Lew?" he asked.

"Couldn't agree more, Cump. There is a chance here to do something about this war—although I am not clear just what will come out of it. After Shiloh and all those deaths I think I began to look at this war in a very different way. I do feel that what you propose to do is something that is well worth doing. Americans fighting Americans was never a good thing, even though it was forced upon us. Now we have a chance to do something bold—together."

"Good. Then you will take command here until I return. And take this. It is a complete report of everything that has happened here today. After we have gone I want you to telegraph it through to General Halleck."

Wallace took the folded paper and smiled. "Going to be busy around here for a bit. There are going to be some really great fireworks when this news arrives. I think it might be an hour or so before I'll be able to get this out."

"You are a sensible officer, Wallace. I will leave this matter to your discretion."

The guns were limbered up, the horses fastened in their traces. An opening was torn in the defense line so that they could ride through. The men of the 53rd Ohio had been informed of what he planned to do and their reaction was important. They stood at attention as he rode up—then burst into wild shouting. Cheered him when he rode slowly by, waving their caps in the air on the points of their bayonets. Morale was high and no one seemed to doubt the grave importance or the correctness of his decision. Would the Confederates see it the same way? He looked at his watch: the hour was up.

He and Colonel Appier rode out to meet the waiting General Beauregard with the eyes of the army upon them.

Sherman chose his words carefully, fearful of any misunderstanding. "This has been a difficult and most important decision, General Beauregard, and I want to assure you that it is a universal one. I have told my officers about the British attack and we are of one mind. I have even spoken to the troops about what I plan to do and I assure you every man in my regiments is in agreement. The North and the South do indeed now have a common enemy."

Beauregard nodded grimly. "I appreciate the decision. Then you do agree to a cease-fire?"

"Even more than that. This is Colonel Appier, the commanding officer of the 53rd Ohio. He, and every man in his regiment, agree with my decision as to what must be done."

"I thank you, Colonel."

Sherman hesitated. Was this the right thing to do—and how would Beauregard react? But there was no turning back now.

"There is more to this than just a cease-fire. We are riding with you, General. This regiment will aid you in your attack on the invading British."

The General left him in no doubt about his reaction to Sherman's decision. After one stunned moment of hesitation he shouted aloud and leaned over and grasped Sherman by the hand, pumped his arm furiously, turned and did the same with Colonel Appier.

"General Sherman you not only have the courage and courtesy of a Southern gentleman. But I swear by God on high that you are a Southern gentleman! Your years in Louisiana were not wasted ones. My call for aid has been exceeded in a manner I never thought possible. Bring your men. Bring your men! We march in common cause."

General Beauregard galloped off to ready his troops. He never had a moment's doubt about how they would react—and he was right. They cheered when he told them about Sherman's decision, cheered louder and louder and threw their hats into the air.

They were ordered into ranks and stood at attention as the blue column of Yankee troops, Sherman leading the way, marched toward them, out from the defensive positions. A drummer to the fore beat the step while the fifes played a sprightly tune.

Other than the thud of marching feet, the music of the fifes and drum, there was only silence. Would it work? Could men who had been fighting and killing each other now march side by side? Yes, Generals Beauregard and Sherman were in agreement. But the soldiers—what about the soldiers? A few days ago they had been murdering each other. How would they react now at such close proximity? No one could tell.

The sound of the drum and the shrill of the fifes, the shuffle of marching feet. There was a tension building up that Sherman did not like and he meant to do something about it. He urged his horse forward, bent and spoke to the fifes who stopped playing. They nodded to each other—raised their instruments to their lips and began to play again in unison.

The shrill sharp melody of "Dixie" pierced the afternoon air.

There was pandemonium. Shouts and cries and shrill whistles. The Confederates broke ranks without order—as did the Northerners. They laughed and shook hands and pounded one another on the back. Like their troops, the two generals shook hands again, this time in mutual triumph.

Dear God, Sherman thought, it might work—it was going to work after all.

The drums beat for attention and the soldiers slowly reformed their ranks. Right faced in unison and marched off down the dusty road.

MARCHING TO BATTLE

Admiral Alexander Milne had gone to bed a happy man. His bombardment of the shore positions had surely aided in their eventual capture. The Americans had put up stiff resistance but in the end they had been destroyed. Because of the shallow sea, and the fact that the surf had ameliorated, unloading the supplies and the artillery appeared to be going remarkably well. By midnight the boats that were returning with the wounded also brought word of victory.

His responsibility for this phase of the operation was at an end; the continued success of the attack was now in other hands. The Duke of Cambridge was an extremely good soldier; a resourceful and experienced leader. With the landings and the attack a success he could be counted upon to hold the position. With the foothold established the breach in the American defenses would be widened. The blockade was broken and the cotton would flow to England once again. To pay for the weapons of war that the South could then afford to import. For the most part his job here was done. The fatigue of the past days, the stress and lack of sleep, were exacting their toll. His China wound was paining him, a reminder that he was pushing himself too hard. He left orders that he wanted to be on deck at first light, then retired.

It seemed that he had just closed his eyes when his servant quietly called to him. He sat up in bed and sipped his coffee slowly, made no effort to arise until the cup was empty; he was still very weary. Only when the coffee was finished did he shave and dress and go up on deck. Stars filled the black hemisphere of the skies, but there was the barest hint of gray in the east. Captain Roland was on the forward bridge and saluted him formally when he appeared.

"The storm passed during the night, sir. It is going to be a fine day."

"Any further reports from shore?"

"There was a counterattack which was repelled. General Bullers reports that victory is complete."

"Field guns and supplies?"

"All on the beach, sir. As soon as it is light they will be moved to the battlements."

"A most satisfactory engagement, satisfactory indeed."

It would not be long before Milne would deeply regret speaking those words. As the morning haze burned off he began to be possessed by a feeling of growing horror. The beach where the landing had taken place had open water to the right, and was much larger than it had seemed in the rain and fog the day before. In fact the beachfront curved back towards the harbor to the left, ran on down the coastline. He raised his telescope in the growing light, saw that behind the jut of land ahead there was a lagoon. Captain Roland gasped and spoke aloud what the admiral suddenly realized was the truth.

"That is not DeerIsland—or any other island. That's the shore! Could we have made a mistake?"

There was the rumble of distant gunfire and they swung their telescopes in that direction. A ship was running down toward them; it was the sloop that he had stationed on their eastern flank, now approaching under full sail.

In her wake boiling out clouds of smoke was a pursuing warship.

"Beat to quarters," the captain ordered. "Raise steam. I must have full power."

Warrior
had her guns run out and all sail set as well. She was just getting under way when the sloop rounded her stern and lowered sail now that she was under the protection of the ironclad. Her pursuer also slowed and went about, understandably not wanting to face the impregnable
Warrior
and her guns. As the ship's stern faced them a gust of wind caught her flag and spread it out. So close were they that no telescope was needed to identify her.

Stars and stripes. The American flag.

"Message to
Java
and
Southampton,"
the admiral said. "Enemy in sight. Pursue and capture. Or destroy."

The captain of the British sloop had lowered a boat as soon as was possible, had come to report in person. He saluted as he came on deck.

"Report," the admiral said coldly. Fearing the answer.

"At dawn, sir, we saw an island and that ship anchored close offshore. Ran down close enough to see that there were fortified gun positions there. They fired on us as soon as they identified our flag. Then the warship upped her anchor and came after us. I checked the charts and, sir, I think that..."

His voice ran down and he coughed as though choking on his words.