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.”
CHAPTER THREE
Just before sundown of the following day a corporal from General Strong’s brigade came around and handed out squares of white cotton cloth. The men were to sew them to the left sleeves of their blouses to prevent mistakes if they should be attacked while they marched.
At midnight came the sounds of quiet commands, the tinkle of buckles and the creak of leather as the men made ready for the march.
Tim’s men grouped around. Sergeant Fitch and Steele and the others leaned on their rifles.
“We don’t expect trouble tonight but we have to go quiet. General Strong’s brigade is on our left. We’ll travel close to the beach, with the Sixth Connecticut just behind.”
Tim found marching a pleasant relief from the heat and boredom of the day. The moon rose and traced its path across the sky. The breeze from the ocean riffled the marsh grass and cooled the sand. They reached the inlet well before dawn.
Tim turned to Sergeant Fitch. “Fall out and be silent,” he whispered. The boys sat around on the sand.
Captain Kautz moved along the line. “Ten minutes to rest and then we embark,” he said. “We cross the inlet and wait near shore for a signal from Colonel Rodman’s boat. When we finally start for the beach, row fast.”