Peter Burchard

“ On the platform at the back of the caboose stood a grisled old man with a pistol thrust into his belt. Beside him was a man, apparently young, in a soiled Confederate uniform, a slouch hat shading his face. As the train stopped, Tim could see that the young Confederate’s face was nothing but an expressionless scar.
It wasn’t long before another column of men came into sight. They were all in Yankee uniform, and as they marched out of the shadow Tim’s heart skipped a beat. At the head of the column, hatless and with his blouse thrown open, marched Red. There was life in his stride. ”

“ Tim reached the third man at a bound and knocked him flat with a blow that sent his shotgun spinning into the snow. Red gained his feet as the man rolled over. He leveled the pistol at the man’s head. The man went pale and raised his hands.
Tim said, “I’ll see to Missus Flint.”
Tim followed her footprints across the snow. She lay face down, a still, dark shape against the glare. As he walked a numbness moved along his legs and the pumping of his heart beat like thunder in his ears. ”

“ A man was running wildly around a cooking fire, stripped to the waist. “It’s Corporal Steele,” Tim said. “Every company has a clown.”
Now Sergeant Fitch and some of the other boys joined the fun. They whooped and hollered and jigged. The firelight struck their bodies like a patchwork quilt. Tim smiled to himself.
A voice was suddenly raised above the din. A blond-haired man of middle height came into the light, with both fists clenched. “You men have work to do,” he screamed. “Clean your rifles and assemble your gear. Tomorrow we move up the coast.”
Tim said, “Dawson’s drunk as a lord.” ”

“ Tim was conscious of the silent lines of men stretching away to the rear, and he knew that sentries in the unseen fort waited quietly in the darkness, straining their eyes toward the Yankee pickets, wondering when the attack would come. Fear came to him, then ebbed away. He knew that the hours ahead must be lived a minute at a time. He got to his feet.
Muffled voices sounded on the left and Sergeant Fitch came out of the gloom. “General Strong and Colonel Rodman are up and about.”
“Did you get some sleep?”
“Not much. But most of the boys are dead to the world.” ”

“ As they crashed into the cover of the nearby trees they heard a bang and Red was seized by a frenzy of high-spirited mirth. “The man’s ungrateful, that’s what he is.”
They walked for an hour or so and sat on a patch of grass to rest. The day had dawned clear and warmer. Tim reached for the map and spread it out against his knee. They had made good time the night before, heading straight north over level, lightly wooded country, following a road for a while and crossing a deep-cut river on a stout wooden bridge. The night had been just right for walking; just nippy enough to give them spirit. ”

“ Tim smiled. “Kautz would have convinced me I was wrong.”
“Not likely he would have made such a devilish big mistake.”
“Kautz was a professional soldier. When you and I were fighting men we made ourselves think as soldiers think, but Kautz thought that way every minute of his life.”
“You mean we aren’t soldiers any more.”
“We’re the hunted, not the hunters, now. It changes a man. It frightens me sometimes when I lie awake in the gray light of dawn.”
Red smiled at last. “I wonder where Kautz is now.”
“God knows. Maybe back with the Seventh again.” ”

“ Red Kelly took the oars of the little boat and Tim Bradford sat on the sagging seat in the stern as they moved along the creek and into the inlet that separated St. Helena from the complex of smaller outer islands. These islands laced the coast of South Carolina from Georgetown to Hilton Head. The Atlantic Ocean washed their beaches, and their backs were honeycombed with deep creeks and rivers where shallow-draft Confederate blockade runners had once found it easy to move and hide. ”

“ The men rowed silently across the inlet. Tim sat at the tiller in the stern.
They waited in the shelter of the grass-covered dunes, dipping their oars so that the boats wouldn’t drift. Aside from the occasional plop of a clumsy oar, there was barely a sound. Corporal Steele sat just across from Tim, rowing and watching the rippling grass. “There must be Rebels behind those dunes,” he whispered. “We’ll be sitting ducks if they catch us here.” As he spoke the flat of his right oar smacked the water. ”

“ Tim worked himself around and stuck his head out into the alley. He looked along the jailhouse wall toward the front of the jail. A feeble light from one of the windows struck the worn cobbles and dry grass. There was no one in sight.
Slowly he worked his way around and looked the other way, not daring to pry the board up farther. A row of houses faced the back of the jail, lamplight showing in some of their windows. No one was in the street at the back, as far as Tim could tell. He pried the board upward, crawled into the alley, and reached back for the blankets and haversacks. ”

“ Tim and Red rose slowly, so that they could see beyond the rock. Two men had dismounted. They were bending over a fallen third. A short grisled man, built like a gorilla, held a rifle at the ready, and the other—a young, dark-haired man—clutched a shotgun in his hand. Red took aim and caught the short man square in the head. The man’s [177] body slumped to the ground and two of the horses rose on their hind legs, whinnied and bolted in terror. As the third man grabbed at the bridle of his horse Red straightened up, holding the revolver. ”

“ Tim said. “We were in jail more than five months before we escaped.”
Their host nodded toward the man who had asked the question and turned to Tim. “Doctor Sellers is our only doctor—your father’s Southern counterpart.”
The doctor spoke softly. “In wartime we think of our enemies as unrelenting scoundrels. Of course we know in our hearts it isn’t so. But I can’t for the life of me see why the North must bring our long-established institutions down.” He shook his head. “Now I’m talking like a child. Slavery is already doomed.” ”

“ During warmer weather the prisoners had had a weekly swim in the river and the Army men had done their laundry in wooden buckets while they were at liberty in the yard. Now it was too cold for swimming, and most of the men—finding it unpleasant to do their laundry in the open air—had given it up. Tim had been waiting for a chance to talk to Senn, to see if the Army prisoners could have an extra kitchen hand, as the Navy had, to do the wash and help carry the food. If they couldn’t have baths, at least they should have a way to wash their clothes. ”

“ God give them the nighttime to move without pursuit.
[102] Now the sound of music reached his ears. Tim had heard it before. It was said that the people of Columbia held great balls from time to time to raise money for the Armies of the Confederacy.
For a moment Tim forgot the meager rations in the jail, the smells, the dirty clothes, the bedbugs that plagued them at night, the eternal boredom that made the men short of temper. He thought of the people he would miss. There were Devil and Bell and Peter Mills. ”

“ As Tim’s thoughts went back over the past two years, he was troubled by a familiar restlessness. He looked into the fish-smelling bottom of the little boat and across the inlet to the palmettos and scrub oaks that lined the shore of the outer island, and he flexed his hands.
Red Kelly, watching him with piercing blue eyes, read his thoughts. “We move tomorrow,” he said. “Be patient. God made this land and the sky above it. Live at peace this lazy day.”
“Do you think we can win this war?”
“We have many more men under arms than the Rebs and we’re backed by the might of our industry. ”

“ Tim slept in a second-tier bunk. He opened his eyes and pulled up his blanket to shield himself from the chilly air. This left his feet sticking out. He stared, as he had stared a hundred times before, at the rough-hewn rafters and the boards that formed the floor above. He threw off his blanket and sat on the edge of his bunk. One of his boots was lying on the end of the mattress. He reached for it and turned it over in his hands. As he looked he began to frown. If he had some money, he could send out his boots to have the soles and heels repaired. ”

“ Together he and Greene dashed into the moat. Tim heard a splash. Greene lay in the water, face down. Tim reached for the boy to pull him out but Greene jumped up. “I’m alive. I only tripped,” he screamed. “Alive, alive!”
Tim choked down a desperate laugh as he rushed for the massive, sloping bank of earth. Scrambling up the rutted parapet, he felt something sharp prick the seat of his pants. He swung around and looked into the dogged face of Private Greene.
“Private Greene,” he said. “Watch what you do with that bayonet.” ”

“ The engineers must have seen the hunters. The whistle shrieked repeatedly.
Tim looked over his shoulder and before he knew it the towering funnel stood above them, belching smoke and flame. The light of the headlamp flooded the rails.
Now the hounds were just across the track, and Kane’s figure rose in his stirrups as his horse shrieked and reared [153] in fright. Tim ran at top speed, leapt to a flatcar and hung on for his life. He worked himself onto the car, sank to the planks and rested a moment before he looked back. ”

“ Red’s face took on a faraway look. “Nancy and I were thinking of moving away from New Haven after the war. Tell me, how is life in a country town?”
Tim squinted his eyes. The distant sailing ship had scarcely moved, but the mist had burned away. “The town is clean,” he said. “The yards of the houses are neat, and the village green is really green. The Connecticut River flows wide and deep below the houses. My girl’s name is Kate. She lives three miles down river. Her eyes are blue and her hair is dark. She’s full of life. ”

“ A rusty steamer came puffing and wallowing across the choppy waters and made fast to the pier just to the west of the Confederate battery at Cummings Point.
As the prisoners clattered along the pier Tim wondered if the flimsy structure would hold them all. It creaked and groaned as one by one the men jumped to the heaving deck.
As Tim stood by the rail he caught sight of a familiar face. “Private Greene,” he said.
Greene turned a happy face and worked his way behind the crowd of men along the rail. Tim clasped the boy’s hand. “Glad to see you, lad.” ”

“ To their right the land rose gently. It offered little cover. It would be folly to retreat along the road. Tim motioned left toward the railroad track. “That’s as good a way as any. At least there’s a little cover there.”
They ran across a field and into a grove of scrub oak and pine. They dashed pell-mell down a steep little hill and across a brook and up toward the ridge where the railroad ran. They heard the sound of horses’ hoofs crashing through the undergrowth across the stream. ”

“ Allen started a good-natured scuffle with Frazer, who was stupidly facing the kitchen door.
Tim dropped behind the screen of men and scrambled into the kitchen, cracking his shin against the sill.
Red was already out of sight. Tim lost no time in rounding the boiler and kneeling with Red behind a stack of wood which was topped by towels and rags that hung from the line. Devil had built up the woodpile high and solid so that the men would have a place to hide. ”

“ They marched through the streets and alleys lined by houses, sometimes neat and tidy, sometimes deserted and forlorn. There were gardens filled with summer flowers still in bloom, palmetto trees along the sidewalk, dark green painted doors with knobs and knockers of polished brass. People leaned on their windowsills to watch the passing prisoners. Some of them hissed or spat. Others watched with expressions of compassion or concern. A scattering of ragged children ran ahead of the prisoners, spreading the word that they were on the way. ”

“ Devil screwed his face into a grin. “It’s because we’re such capital fellows and they trust us,” he said. “Nobody can trust an Army man.”
Tim laughed softly. “And you cook for Senn sometimes.”
Devil leaned forward and fixed Tim with a roguish stare. “I plan to poison him,” he whispered.
There was a pounding at the gate before their time was up, and the prisoners were ordered into the building again. Tim was on kitchen duty tonight. He stood with Devil and Bell and watched as the guards opened the gate and the wagon came through. ”

“ Tim smiled again. “Bradford,” he said. “I’m from Connecticut.”
The lieutenant raised his hand in a kind of salute and moved off, walking easily among the prisoners, talking to Dawson first and then to some of the other men.
A wagon rattled into the lot, driven by a big young Negro boy perched high on the wooden seat, smiling proudly and nodding to the Confederate lieutenant. Some of the early risers helped build a fire. They heated water for coffee, and the colored boy passed out rations to the men who were awake. ”

“ Tim was impatient. “Why can’t we march tomorrow morning?”
“We can boil up our rations and clean our rifles,” Dawson said. “We can make good use of the extra time.”
Red laughed. “If the boys clean their rifles a couple more times they’ll wear the bores down smooth.”
Dawson didn’t feel like joking. “Sea air is death to firearms,” he said.
Kautz gave no sign of having heard. “We’ll have plenty of support for our initial attack. We have a hidden battery on the shore of Lighthouse Inlet. As soon as the enemy sees our boats our mortars will open fire.” ”

“ The guards kept their places on the tops of the cars. All the doors on the opposite side of the train were shut and probably locked.
As the prisoners climbed into the car the smell of cow dung and urine struck them full in the face. The last ones in sat near the open door.
Tim’s head ached and he was stiff in every joint, but as he leaned against the boards of the cattle car with Kautz [60] on his right and Red on his left he smiled to himself. Friends, that’s what a man needs, he thought. It’s going it alone that makes it tough. ”