A trickle of water ran down his cheek and into his mouth. He wanted to shout the command himself.
The Yankee battery fired again. The shell burst just behind a nearby sand hill. A mass of gulls rose against the sun in a speckled cloud and flew, squawking, toward the open sea.
Now one of the boats was hit. The man in the stern rose from his seat, swayed and toppled to the water in a trail of blood. Another was wounded, and his screaming echoed across the water above the sound of rifle fire and the yells of the Rebels on the shore. There was a throbbing in Tim’s head. He could feel his temper rise. Now at last the signal was given, the oarsmen bent to their work and the boats moved toward shore.
Kautz’s boat was one of the first to scrape the sand. He jumped out, ranging up and down the beach like a fighting cock, urging the men to move in fast.
Tim’s boat landed just behind Kautz’s, with other boats following closely. He jumped over the side and into the water and waded ashore in a hail of bullets.
Kautz said, “Hit the beach and start firing.” He knelt near Tim. “Half a minute to get your breath, then move inland with your men and clear the rifle pits. If you keep moving, the rest of the company will follow right behind.”
The other boats swarmed in to shore and the soldiers started jumping out, holding their rifles high and dry.
Sergeant Fitch and the other boys lay close to Tim, their faces streaming and their chests heaving. Tim fingered his pistol. “A couple more seconds, then we go.” He raised his hand. “Three yards apart. Keep me in sight. Move in low and give them a lively target.”
He moved fast to the crest of the nearest dune. The first line of rifle pits had been deserted. The enemy camp was deserted too. It was strewn with boots, canteens and other odds and ends. A cooking fire smoldered on the sand. Tim and his boys moved past the tents. The Rebel garrison must have been small.
A cannon on the right was standing alone. Red and a squad of his men moved in to swing it around. Tim ran forward to the second dune and crouched to see what lay beyond. There was a line of rifle pits a hundred yards or so away. Men peered anxiously over the sides. Tim signaled to his men. Rising up in full view of the pits, he gave a yell and ran a zigzag course, with Sergeant Fitch and Steele by his side. The other men yelled and followed close on their heels. Neither Yankees nor Rebels stopped to fire. The Rebels, outnumbered as they were, just jumped the pits and scurried for the rear.