The train jerked to a stop, and after a spasm or two was still. Tim
groaned and opened his eyes, got up, and stretched and poked his head
into the blinding light outside the car. The crack of a pistol sounded
in his ears. A bullet sang past his head and dug into the side of the
wooden car. He ducked back into the car, feeling the blood drain away
from his face. Slowly he sat down again on the floor of the car.
“Damned maniacs!” said Kautz.
The old man’s voice sounded just outside the car. “Another word like
that and I’ll shoot every bluebelly on this train.” He pointed his
pistol at Kautz’s head. “And I’ll start with you, Yankee Captain.”
Red looked up sleepily. “Who was doing the shooting?”
“The captain of the guard,” Tim said. “He nearly hit me in the head.”
They stared out at the settlement beside the tracks. A skinny horse was
tethered to a lone pine tree. There were one or two white wooden houses
and a chicken shed. A pig ran into view, going in circles, pursued by a
boy of nine or ten. The animal moved with great speed. He and the boy
dropped from sight and appeared again, this time farther away. The boy
dove at the pig and they tumbled in a cloud of dust. He got up, holding
the animal, and took him, wiggling and squirming, to his pen.
When the train left Branchville it was clear that they were heading
for Columbia. They were going north. The countryside was hilly now.
The swamps gave way to meadows and copses, small farmhouses and cotton
fields. They passed through a stand of trees, and in the blur of
foliage Tim thought, If a man jumped here, he’d be sliced to ribbons by
the trees.
As evening came on and the light grew dim Tim noticed that Kautz was
edging toward the door. Kautz’s face was tense as he watched the
blackening landscape and deep blue sky. Now the wheels beat a slower
tattoo and the whistle shrieked. There was a different sound as the
train rumbled onto a rickety trestle. Kautz reached out and touched
Tim’s arm. “Soon,” he whispered.
Tim shook Red’s shoulder to be sure he was awake. “Captain Kautz says
soon.”
Red lifted his head. “Any time,” he said, crawling past Tim so he could
follow Kautz.
Kautz crouched tensely by the door. The train droned across the
trestle. Tim thought, Kautz must plan to jump when we get to the other
side.
Suddenly Kautz reared back and sprang from the train, and Red crouched
to follow him.
Tim reached out, grabbed Red’s blouse and pulled him back. “We’re over
water and you can’t swim,” he yelled.
Above the rumble of the train they heard a shot from the caboose and
a yell, and then another shot that echoed against the surface of the
Congaree. Tim looked wildly toward the door. Our chance is gone for
now, he thought. The rumble stopped as the train reached solid ground
again and passed into a wooded area.
The prisoners began to stir. “Did someone get away?” asked a timid
voice.
There was a buzz of talk as the train creaked to a stop and the guards
climbed down from the cars. The old man was furious. “Did someone
escape from this car?” he screamed, his figure silhouetted menacingly
in the open doorway. There was silence.
The old man spoke to the guards who stood in the twilight along
the tracks, “Guards ride inside the cars,” he called in a fury of
frustration. “Fix your bayonets and use them at will. No guard sleeps
until we reach Columbia. If another prisoner gets away, you all better
start to say your prayers.”
The feet of the guards scraped along the gravel. They moved to
the doors and hoisted themselves into the cars. A skinny boy and
a middle-aged, heavy-set man climbed into Tim’s car and settled
themselves against the left-hand door.
The old man went down the line and slid all the doors shut. He shouted
to the guards, “If you see a crack of light, strike out with your
bayonet. If any guard sleeps I’ll have him shot.”
As the train moved forward it seemed to Tim that the heat in the car
had already risen ten degrees. He leaned toward Red. “Do you think
Kautz got away?”
“Sure he did. The water was high,” Red said, “and you’d be with him if
it wasn’t for me.”
“We’ll have our chance,” Tim said.
As the train moved through the night the air in the car became
unbearable. The middle-aged guard stumbled forward and slid the door
half open. “We have to get some air,” he said, “but you all stay clear
of the door.”
Tim breathed more easily now. The sky was soft and deep, and the stars
touched the crests of the rolling hills with a faint, unearthly light.
Tall pines were etched against the blue, and occasionally the light of
a lamp marked a beckoning square in the dark outline of a house.
The train moved through the night, its headlamp sending a feeble light
along the rails, its firebox glowing orange, the smoke from the engine
streaming behind.
In the caboose the old captain laid his pistol on the table and fanned
out his playing cards. He frowned at the scar-faced sergeant who sat
across from him.
In the other cars the prisoners slept and the guards struggled to stay
awake.
* * * * *
When Tim woke, the train had stopped but he could hear the engine’s
slow, metallic puffing sounds and the guards talking outside the cars.
He couldn’t remember where he was and in a sudden panic he reached out
in the dark and put his hand on someone’s arm.
He heard Red’s voice. “That you, Tim?”
“Yes.”
“If they don’t let us out of here, I’m afraid I might be sick.”
Tim reached into the pocket of his blouse and brought out a couple of
blackstrap molasses cakes. “Eat one of these.”
Red took the leathery cake and mumbled thanks.
The door of the railroad car slid open. Tim breathed deeply.
The old man’s voice rose above the others. “Get out of the cars.”
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.
The men’s boots sounded on the pavement; a bell in a nearby tower
tolled the hour. When its echo had died away the voice of the town
crier sounded in the street. “Ten o’clock and all’s well!”
The Confederate lieutenant called a halt in front of a three-story
building that appeared to be a jail. It was built of brick, and the
windows were heavily barred. Four steps led up to a door in the middle
of the building, and beside the steps, just under a lamp, stood a
prison guard. The man’s features, lit from above, were ghoulish in the
yellow light.
The lieutenant spoke to the guard. “Captain Senn is nowhere about, I
suppose?”
“No, sir, he’s not. He won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”
“Did he leave any orders for these prisoners?”
“Not that I know of, Lieutenant.”
“Then we’ll set up camp in the vacant lot at the corner of Gadsden and
Taylor Streets.”
The lieutenant turned to the prisoners. “Will the officers step
forward, please?”
Tim, Red, Dawson and two other men stepped out of the ranks.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till morning for a ration of food,” the
lieutenant said. “Did they feed you before you boarded the train?”
Tim looked toward Dawson, the ranking officer, but Dawson didn’t speak.
“Most of us have had very little food today, but we’re so tired that if
we have some place to sleep we can manage until morning,” Tim said.
“I’ll see that you get rations at the crack of dawn,” the lieutenant
said. “The officers will probably be billeted here, but I don’t know
what plans we have for the enlisted men.”
The prisoners were marched around the corner and settled in an empty
lot, under the watchful eyes of the guards.
Tim and Red rolled up their blouses for pillows and lay down under a
spindly tree. Red lay on his side. “Why is Captain Dawson avoiding us?”
he asked.
“Poor devil went to pieces in this morning’s assault. I had to pry a
dead boy loose from him and slap his face to bring him to his senses.”
“He’s been heading for trouble for a long time now.”
A soldier near them groaned, “Why don’t you boys go to sleep?”
Tim lay on his back and looked into the sky. The stars cast a faint
light on the shapes of the prisoners and the sentries standing around
the lot. Tim couldn’t wait to escape. In his mind he raced like a
phantom through the pine forests of North Carolina and across the
mountains into Eastern Tennessee.