“Any word of Kelly or Captain Kautz?”
“None that I know of.”
A big Rebel sergeant moved close to them with studied ease and snapped, “That’s enough talking. You’ll have plenty of time to talk in jail.”
Tim thought, If Red is dead I’ll visit his wife and child when I get home. But I pray to God he lives.
Off to the east thunderheads were piling up, and a stiff breeze sprang up.
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.”