As the transport ran up Folly River the men could see the tops of Yankee tents above the undergrowth. The troops disembarked at Pawnee Landing. They cut through a little wood on a well-worn path and made their bivouac in a barren place not far from the beach, close to another Yankee camp. They built no fires that night. Tim and Red, Dawson and Kautz sat together breaking out their rations, glad for a chance to rest. Captain Dawson turned to Kautz. “I wonder if the Rebels know what’s up?” “It won’t be long before they do.” Tim was impatient. “Why can’t we march tomorrow morning?” “We can boil up our rations and clean our rifles,” Dawson said. “We can make good use of the extra time.” Red laughed. “If the boys clean their rifles a couple more times they’ll wear the bores down smooth.” Dawson didn’t feel like joking. “Sea air is death to firearms,” he said. Kautz gave no sign of having heard. “We’ll have plenty of support for our initial attack. We have a hidden battery on the shore of Lighthouse Inlet. As soon as the enemy sees our boats our mortars will open fire.” CHAPTER THREE Just before sundown of the following day a corporal from General Strong’s brigade came around and handed out squares of white cotton cloth. The men were to sew them to the left sleeves of their blouses to prevent mistakes if they should be attacked while they marched. At midnight came the sounds of quiet commands, the tinkle of buckles and the creak of leather as the men made ready for the march. Tim’s men grouped around. Sergeant Fitch and Steele and the others leaned on their rifles. “We don’t expect trouble tonight but we have to go quiet. General Strong’s brigade is on our left. We’ll travel close to the beach, with the Sixth Connecticut just behind.” Tim found marching a pleasant relief from the heat and boredom of the day. The moon rose and traced its path across the sky. The breeze from the ocean riffled the marsh grass and cooled the sand. They reached the inlet well before dawn. Tim turned to Sergeant Fitch. “Fall out and be silent,” he whispered. The boys sat around on the sand. Captain Kautz moved along the line. “Ten minutes to rest and then we embark,” he said. “We cross the inlet and wait near shore for a signal from Colonel Rodman’s boat. When we finally start for the beach, row fast.” In the ghostly light the silhouetted figures fussed with the boats, setting the oarlocks and putting in the oars. The boatloads departed one by one. The boats were made of rough milled pine primed over with lead and oil. Tim cautioned his men to step with care. “The bottom’s eggshell thin,” he said. The men rowed silently across the inlet. Tim sat at the tiller in the stern.