They waited in the shelter of the grass-covered dunes, dipping their oars so that the boats wouldn’t drift. Aside from the occasional plop of a clumsy oar, there was barely a sound. Corporal Steele sat just across from Tim, rowing and watching the rippling grass. “There must be Rebels behind those dunes,” he whispered. “We’ll be sitting ducks if they catch us here.” As he spoke the flat of his right oar smacked the water. Tim whispered fiercely, “You’re doing your best to give us away.” The oarsmen rocked and dozed, dipping an occasional oar. Tim started to worry. Suppose they’d been seen by a random picket as they’d crossed the inlet, and suppose the picket had held his fire and reported the presence of Yankee boats? If that had happened, every boat in the inlet would be blown to bits in the first light of dawn. Tim combed the shore for signs of life, but there were none. The lapping of the water against the boats and the distant whisper of the sea were broken just once in that early morning vigil when a lone gull rose with an urgent flapping, circled and rested again. As the rising sun blazed fire across the sky, flooding the sea with an orange light, the silhouettes of the boats took form and shape. The silence was shattered by the opening shot. An eight-inch shell from the Federal battery arched overhead and dropped into the Rebel camp. The Confederates shouted and ran to their guns. The smoke from the discharged gun twisted lazily in the morning air. Tim gripped the side of his boat and watched through the haze for a sign from the colonel. Now the water was churned by shot and shell. A near miss doused Tim’s boat, and the boys went pale. “Why the devil must we wait to move?” Tim said out loud. 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.”