“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 Deer Island — 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.
“Out with it,” the admiral snapped. The officer was pale under his tan. With great difficulty he spoke.
“I believe that… that the island was… Deer Island. When I discovered this I looked again at our charts. If you will look, sir, there on the shore, where we attacked. You can see that there is a small port, and right behind the port there are those buildings, next to where the landings were made. I have looked at all my charts and I feel… I think… that that is the city of Biloxi. Biloxi, Mississippi, which as you know is one of the Confederate states.”
The sure knowledge struck the admiral like a physical blow: he reeled back and clutched the iron rail.
They had attacked the wrong fortress, invaded and destroyed property and lives in the wrong country. The mistake was his, none other. He must stop the attack: but it was far too late for that. He must try to make amends, do something. But there was nothing that he could do. The die was cast, fortune in jeopardy. The future was more than bleak for his career was in ruins, that was obvious, his life as he had known it was ended.
“I do not feel well,” he said turning and shuffling from the bridge. “I am going below.”
“But, Admiral — what shall we do? What are your orders?”
He did not answer them. But a few minutes later the sound of a muffled pistol shot was answer enough.
When the Duke of Cambridge climbed the boarding ladder to the deck of Warrior he was hurried at once to Captain Roland’s quarters. Roland closed the door and turned to him, ashen-faced.
“Disaster…” he said in a hoarse voice.
“All too bloody right it is. You know we attacked the wrong bloody spot? You obviously do. Milne will pay for this, pay hard.”
“He already has. The admiral is dead by his own hand.”
“Well I’ll not take the blame for this fiasco!” The duke slammed the table so hard that the bottles there leaped and clashed. “The army is advancing as ordered. I must see to it that they have reinforcements. The attack from Canada must be informed. I will wring victory from this rotten mess that you have created. What is that warship close alongside?”
“The Java”
“I’m taking her. You are senior captain here. Stay in command until the reinforcements arrive. And get it right or I’ll have you reduced, dismissed. See if the navy can’t get one thing right in this disaster.”
Children ran alongside the marching troops, cheering and waving. The adults came out too, but not quite as sure of themselves as the children were. Riders had been sent ahead of the column to let everyone know what was happening. The blue uniforms and Union flags raised some eyebrows, but when they understood what was happening there was mutual enthusiasm.
“Give ’em hell boys!” an oldster called out from the porch of a roadside house.
“Yanks and Johnny Reb — well I never,” a man on horseback said, then waved his hat. “Get them Britishers. I heard what they done and Hell is too good a place for them.”