The prisoners climbed stiffly from the cars and formed loose ranks along the platform. “This place smells like an orchard in early spring,” Tim said. “A sinkhole would smell like heaven after that trip.” “Quiet,” the scar-faced sergeant said. “The captain is mean as the devil tonight. Your welcoming committee isn’t here.” The old man was bullying up and down the ranks. “Stay in line, you devils,” he shouted. “Keep them in line, you lazy trash.” He stood in a circle of gaslight at the end of the platform with his hands on his hips and greeted a detachment of men in Confederate uniform. “Where in hell have you been?” he howled to the lieutenant in command of the guard. “You were supposed to be here when the train came in.” The lieutenant was an even-tempered man. “I’ll take the gentlemen now,” he said. The old captain made a vulgar sound. “Gentlemen!” he exploded. “These men are the lowest of Yankee scum.” The lieutenant looked along the line. “Any trouble to report?” “One escape from the long bridge trestle on the Congaree. I got him with my second shot.” “You know his name, so I can put it in the report?” The old man’s voice was rising again. “Now how the devil would I know his name?” The lieutenant gave a command to his men and they came down the line, ordering the prisoners to march. The column moved along the platform, past the silent cars into the pool of gaslight, out of the stationyard and along a lamplit street lined with white wooden houses, cool and dark under the cover of stately trees. The guards spoke to the prisoners now and then, and the prisoners talked quietly among themselves. “How did you get through the battle alive?” “Kautz and I and some of the others survived the retreat. Did you hear the order to retreat?” “No,” Tim said. “It must have come after I got into the fort.” “Saints preserve us, you mean you jumped right into the fort?” Red said. “There was no place else to go.” Tim stuffed his hands into the pockets of his blouse. “But if you lived through the retreat, how did they take you prisoner?” “After the battle, under a flag of truce. Kautz and I followed the doctors out to the field to help the wounded and identify our dead.” Red lowered his head and clenched his fists. “They took us prisoners while we were out there on an errand of mercy. They broke their word. An officer from Charleston wanted to let us go back to our lines. It was a renegade Yankee who put up the fuss. He said the commanding general would have to approve our release, but of course we heard no more of that.” “Did you know that Sergeant Fitch was killed?” “I did. He was a blessed man.” The column passed a lamplit printing office. “We need news of our troops,” Tim said, “if we’re going to head for Union lines.” “And maps,” said Red. “Captain Kautz had all the maps.” “I wish we could make a break right now.” “Quiet in the ranks,” said one of the guards.