Dawson came out of the tent and stared, silent and hostile, at Kautz’s back. “Very funny, Captain,” he said, putting his hand to his head.
The four men ate their rations of salt pork and hardtack and bitter coffee. The companies formed in columns to march to the pier and board a ferry that would take them across to Hilton Head.
As they crossed Port Royal Sound the sky in the east was touched by the light of dawn. A mist hung over the sea. The ferry coasted into the landing and the soldiers were silent, watching the shore or staring moodily at the deck, showing none of the spirit of the night before. The troops waited by the big, gray sheds, built when the islands had first been occupied. The men talked quietly and some of them realizing that there would be a wait, took off their cartridge boxes and canteens and stacked their rifles.
The pier crossed a narrow strip of beach and jutted more than a hundred yards into the water. A narrow-gauge railroad track ran out to the end of the pier where a T-shaped float broadened the docking space. Two large transports waited at the end of the pier, smoke trailing away from their single funnels. Just ahead of them a smaller vessel was being unloaded by half-a-dozen stevedores. Beyond the pier were the masts and funnels of a score of other ships, the farthest ones dim in the morning mist.
Tim went forward to speak to Kautz. The captain turned. “The colonel says dispense with roll call. No one will want to desert us here.” He motioned toward the waiting transports and gestured toward a column of men that waited on the pier. “We board the ship on the left,” he said. “Company K will occupy the forward deck. We will occupy the stern.”
Tim made his way back along the wall of one of the sheds. He found Red no more cheerful than anyone else. Tim said, “At least we’re heading north.”
“I suppose there should be comfort in that.”
Dawson stood close by. “North or south, it’s all the same to me,” he said. “I want to see the last of these flea-ridden islands. I’d like to be defending Beaufort. That’s the job for me. The boys in Beaufort sit on verandas and rock all day.”
Red smiled. “A veranda in New Haven would look good to me.”
The branches of a spindly oak showed above the roof of the nearest shed. The place was colorless and barren in the early morning light.