I was roused from my reverie by the sound of a drum commanding retreat.

We had, previous to this, directed our steps back toward the quays, we being sensible that the town was become ever more treacherous as the flames spread, and there should be fewer and fewer routes that could be followed to safety. Thus, it was a matter of only some five or six streets until we reached the main square on the waterfront, where stood our colors and the Regimental drummer, who resolutely beat our retreat.

We delivered our prisoner and the stores we had collected to our Lieutenant and boarded our transport. Jocko was removed to the hospital ship.

All that night, the city of Norfolk burned. At some hour, I awoke to the sound of the cannonade renewed; others slumbered still, clutching their heads to impede the sounds of detonation.

In the dark of the early morning, I rose and went above-decks to watch the city’s continued destruction. On the town’s far rim, the enemy still rejoiced in lighting their fires, still drank and looted, whatever their officers might forbid in word; for oft the commission in the word is not the order in the eye; and officers of angry men may wink at much. The town cast its light across the water, the ruddy embers slipping across the waves. All smelled of smoke.

The Dunmore hurled more carcass shot at the broken wharves.

I returned to my bed.

Thus ended the first day of the year 1776.