Tim whipped the air with his sword and shouted through the smoke and noise, rallying his men. He slipped and scrambled to the crest where the sandbags were stacked. He kept moving as he reached the crest, half sliding, half jumping into the fort. He was blinded for a moment by a thick cloud of acrid smoke that made him cough and choke. As the smoke blew away he saw a Rebel sergeant straight in front of him and cannoneers at either side. He lowered his sword. Off to the right a big voice commanded the sergeant, “Hold your fire.” A Confederate lieutenant moved toward Tim, his pistol ready, a broken-toothed smile cracking his leathery face. “A prisoner, sir.” CHAPTER FIVE Tim sheathed his sword. “Your sword and pistol,” the lieutenant said. Tim unbuckled his belt, slid off his bolstered pistol and held it toward the man. “I’ll surrender my sword to the officer who commands this battery,” he said. The lieutenant nodded. “As you wish it, sir,” he said, raising his voice above the rattle of musket fire and pointing to a man who was stripped to the waist and covered with grime and sweat. “There’s Captain Chichester. Surrender your sword to him.” The Confederate captain turned as Tim walked toward him. The Captain nodded respectfully. He reached for his pistol and handed it to a boy not more than twelve years old who stood by his side. “Guard this prisoner,” he said, “and mind you don’t shoot him by mistake.” Tim walked with the boy to a place near a bombproof shelter where empty powder barrels were thrown helter-skelter on the sand. “I’ll sit on one of these,” he said to the boy. “I’m tired.” The boy stood nearby, serious and manly, but frightened too. He pointed the revolver at the ground and looked at it to be sure he knew how it worked. With his chin down he looked back at Tim. Tim sat on the barrel, looking off through the smoke, the racket of battle in his ears, the screaming of soldiers, the thunder of cannon and the chatter of rifle fire. His spirit was chilled. Fitch was dead. He wondered whether Red and Kautz were lying lifeless in the moat, or were they prisoners too? He thought of the Rebel soldier he had wounded, was it yesterday? The man had said, “The war is finished for me now.” And now, Tim thought, the war is finished for me too. A huge siege gun was fired close by, shaking the earth and sending a puff of acrid smoke rolling along the sandbags at the top of the parapet, making the gunners cough and choke. All at once the firing stopped, the last musket cracked. The smoke of the battle rose above the fort and thinned as it was blown away. The sun filtered through the gloom and there were voices in the silence, loud at first, then soft, like the voices of schoolboys when the teacher comes into the room. Captain Chichester, his shirt draped loosely around his shoulders, walked toward Tim through the thinning smoke.