They left the shadow of the bombproof and walked through the sally port, and there, guarded by half-a-dozen men, were forty or fifty Yankee captives. There was Dawson, hatless, with his corn-colored hair shining in the sun, his face like death. An ugly welt ran across his cheek. One guard laughed when he saw the unarmed boy with the tall Yankee. “Big fish this time, little Billy,” he rasped. “Give him over to me.” Tim nodded to the boy and went to Dawson. “Glad to see you still alive,” he said. Dawson looked sullenly at Tim. “I’m tired,” he said with bitterness. “I’m glad to be out of it, if you want to know the truth.” “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.” Greene just smiled. “Have you seen Lieutenant Kelly or Captain Kautz?” “No, Lieutenant.” As the steamer moved away from the shelter of land it was lifted by swells that swept in from the open sea. The little ship rolled and tossed and smacked the waves, sending up sheets of spray and wetting the men who were wedged along the rails. It seemed to Tim she was carrying too many men. “If we make it to Charleston I’ll be surprised.” Greene smiled shyly. “Let’s mutiny,” he said, “and sail to Boston on the afternoon tide.” Suddenly there was a commotion near them at the rail and one of the prisoners jumped over the side. Tim saw the flash of a shirt then he saw a boy swimming and drifting swiftly astern. He said, “What chance does he think he has?” A guard dashed out of the wheelhouse onto the shuddering deck. He raised his rifle and fired. Greene gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in a helpless fury as he watched the head of the struggling boy. “For the love of mercy, why don’t they give him a chance?” Two shots followed the first, but the boy’s head still bobbed above the water. The fourth shot hit its mark. One of the swimmer’s hands thrashed weakly for a moment and he dipped below the surface, leaving a slick of blood to mark the place where he had disappeared.