People were gathering on the sidewalks, and as the prisoners approached St. Michael’s church the crowd grew thick, surged from under the portico and broke into catcalls and jeers. The soldiers of the Rebel guard flashed their bayonets and drove the people back. Most of the prisoners walked straight and proud. Tim set his jaw and stiffened his back but he couldn’t stop the trembling in his knees. A gang of little boys dodged around the pillars of the church and one of them skittered through the crowd, made a face and flapped his hands like donkey ears. He reached into his pocket and brought out a tomato. Tim saw the boy’s arm arch back as he took deliberate aim. The love apple caught the Rebel sergeant just over his ear. The sergeant moved to catch the boy. “I was aiming at a Yank,” the little fellow screamed as he dashed behind the skirts and capes that lined the street. People in the crowd began to laugh, the women first, and then the men. The sergeant’s face turned red, and even Yankee snickers turned to laughs. Then there was silence. The laughter of the Yanks had made the joke go sour. As they moved along the middle of the street, carriages and wagons pulled aside to let them pass. The drivers turned hostile faces on the men in blue. Tim brushed past the bright red wheels of a gleaming carriage and for a moment he looked into the face of a woman in the back seat. She was about his mother’s age and dressed in black. Her face was beautiful and filled with sadness. Now the urchins who followed the prisoners were joined by others led by a dark-haired older boy. They screamed and taunted. They threw pebbles as they surged along the sidewalks and into the street ahead of the prisoners’ line of march. The sergeant of the guard was flushed with anger. When the leader of the gang began to taunt the prisoners the sergeant grasped the boy’s collar, tearing the shirt right off his back. “Next time I’ll give you the bayonet,” the sergeant said. The boy grabbed his shredded shirt from the dirty stones and ran ahead with his gang behind him to the shelter of a narrow street. The sergeant and the other guards watched as they passed the street. All at once the boys appeared again and pelted the column with stones. A mean-faced Rebel corporal was hit in the leg, and he and the sergeant, with another guard, dashed after the boys as they scattered like quicksilver into the alleys and doorways of the dingy street. Greene’s face showed his excitement as the column was left with just one guard. Tim grabbed Greene’s arm. “This is no time to think of escape. Charleston is a cul-de-sac. They could seal off this peninsula easier than closing a cracker box.” Greene relaxed. “Never even crossed my mind,” he said with a smile. CHAPTER SIX