The taller soldier reached into the pocket of his blouse, but the big man put up his hand. “No money today. Jus’ take the boat.” The soldier stepped onto the pier, as if to shake the colored man’s hand. “Thank you,” he said. “My name is Lieutenant Bradford and this is my friend Lieutenant Kelly.” The fisherman didn’t take the hand, but his mouth formed the hint of a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “My name is Sam.” Red Kelly took the oars of the little boat and Tim Bradford sat on the sagging seat in the stern as they moved along the creek and into the inlet that separated St. Helena from the complex of smaller outer islands. These islands laced the coast of South Carolina from Georgetown to Hilton Head. The Atlantic Ocean washed their beaches, and their backs were honeycombed with deep creeks and rivers where shallow-draft Confederate blockade runners had once found it easy to move and hide. Shortly after the start of the War the first expedition to these islands had been mapped by President Lincoln and his military planners. There had been good reasons for taking the War to South Carolina without delay. The state had been the first to secede, the first to fire on the flag, and there was need of a base of supplies for the ships of the North. Now Federal forces held most of the outer islands from Savannah to Charleston. A base of supplies had been set up on Hilton Head, and the town of Beaufort on Port Royal Island was occupied by Yankee troops. Sixty miles northeast was the proud port of Charleston, heavily fortified, Fort Sumter at the mouth of its beautiful harbor, the place where the War had begun. Fast Confederate packets still ran into Charleston under cover of night, taking supplies to the Southern forces, but the Federal Navy had made it a dangerous game. Nowadays most of the packets headed for Cape Fear, about a hundred and thirty miles northeast of Charleston. As Tim’s thoughts went back over the past two years, he was troubled by a familiar restlessness. He looked into the fish-smelling bottom of the little boat and across the inlet to the palmettos and scrub oaks that lined the shore of the outer island, and he flexed his hands. Red Kelly, watching him with piercing blue eyes, read his thoughts. “We move tomorrow,” he said. “Be patient. God made this land and the sky above it. Live at peace this lazy day.” “Do you think we can win this war?” “We have many more men under arms than the Rebs and we’re backed by the might of our industry. But this is a big, far-ranging war. The good Lord knows how long it will last.” Tim pushed back his cap and ran his hand through his stiff sandy hair. “The boys in the West are fighting a war that moves. We’re fighting a sitting war.” “They’ve done their share of sitting in the West and in Virginia. Before this week is finished you’ll have your chance to fight again and a chance to die.” Tim smiled. “I have no wish to die.”