CHAPTER NINE
In the morning a warm, westerly breeze was blowing across the river where it flowed past the city just to the west. Tim noticed that a railroad ran close by. As he looked to the north he noticed that it followed the river’s course. In the east the sun was rising, round and red above the Statehouse roof. The war seemed far away from this peaceful Southern city. There was a fine green park nearby, and just across the street, in the side yard of one of a row of neat clapboard houses, a line of white sheets flapped in the breeze.
Red was still asleep as Tim got up. He pulled off his boots and shook out his socks, then put his socks and boots back on again. He walked to a well near the corner of the lot. A guard standing nearby nodded to him, and Tim pumped some water and doused his head. “Is the water good for drinking?” he asked.
“I reckon so.”
Tim cupped his left hand and pumped and drank the clear, cool water. When he straightened up he saw the Confederate lieutenant walking toward him. “Good morning,” the man said. “The rations will be along shortly.”
Tim smiled. “That’s good.”
“My name is Davis,” the lieutenant said suddenly. “My home’s in Georgia. How about you?”
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. The other prisoners opened their eyes, stretched and shambled over to stand in line.