Tonight Kautz was having supper with the colonel. Tim hadn’t seen Dawson since early morning. Everyone knew the regiment was to sail at dawn, and the camp hummed with talk of the fighting that lay ahead. The boys knew they were moving against Charleston, and most of them were eager to go. The candle guttered as the two men finished their meal. Red cupped his hand around the flame and blew it out. In a nearby tent they heard a clatter of plates, and a shout went up. Tim leaned back so that he could see past the tent flap. A man was running wildly around a cooking fire, stripped to the waist. “It’s Corporal Steele,” Tim said. “Every company has a clown.” Now Sergeant Fitch and some of the other boys joined the fun. They whooped and hollered and jigged. The firelight struck their bodies like a patchwork quilt. Tim smiled to himself. A voice was suddenly raised above the din. A blond-haired man of middle height came into the light, with both fists clenched. “You men have work to do,” he screamed. “Clean your rifles and assemble your gear. Tomorrow we move up the coast.” Tim said, “Dawson’s drunk as a lord.” He stood up and stepped outside the tent, moving toward the fire. Dawson looked up, his chin trembling. “Lieutenant,” he said in a shaking voice, “are these your men?” “Yes, Captain, they’re my men,” Tim said. “Their rifles are clean and they’re ready to go. They were just letting off a little steam.” “Are you being insolent with me?” Tim looked down at the captain’s sweat-streaked shirt. He turned to Sergeant Fitch. “Sergeant,” he said, controlling the anger in his voice, “you men look over your gear and report back to me.” “Captain.” He turned. “Can I help you to a cup of coffee?” Dawson put his hands on his hips and swayed a little, focusing his watery eyes on Tim. “Mind your manners, Lieutenant,” he said and turned and walked unsteadily away. As soon as he’d gone Red staggered out of the tent. He put his hands on his hips, swayed back and forth and crossed his eyes. “Were you bein’ inshulent wi’ me?” Tim grinned, reached out a long arm and pushed Red so hard that he staggered back and fell on the grass. It wasn’t long before Sergeant Fitch came back with his boys. “Our rifles are clean and our gear is packed,” he said. Tim stood up and kicked some sand into the fire. “Are your buttons nice and shiny so the Rebs can see them in the dark?” “Like diamonds, sir.” Corporal Steele was hanging back, but Tim could see that he was smiling. “Why don’t you boys sit down for a while?” Steele sat on an empty hardtack box and the others sprawled on the grass. Sergeant Fitch cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Kelly, I wonder would you sing us that Irish lullaby?” “Now what would a strapping man like you be wanting with a lullaby?” Red sang in his fine tenor voice.