“Pretty soon, we’ll have flying machines,” said one of the young men. “There was an article in Collier’s”

“We already have balloons.”

“Not balloons—actual machines,” the young man persisted. “Winged aeroplanes. Can you imagine a machine that can soar over the heads of troops? Can you imagine if you mounted a Gatling gun on that? My God, one crew could command a whole battlefield.” His eyes shone with the glimmer of a true believer who had never been under fire.

“You’re dreaming,” Captain James said. “We’re years away from that. Decades away. Maybe another whole century. And machines are just machines. It still comes down to the man. His integrity. What he’s able to do. What he’s willing to do.”

Kenan pondered that. In his dream, his will had not been able to command the machine. The machine had taken on a will of its own. This twentieth century was frightening. He wasn’t sure it would have any use for a man like him. His son, he was the man of the future—a man who could control the machines.

For the next hour, they refought the great battles of the War of Secession: Lee should not have ordered Pickett to charge suicidally at Gettysburg, wiping out all those North Carolina boys; Grant could have been outflanked in the swamps of Vicksburg, if anybody had suspected he’d advance from that direction; Fort Fisher could have held out forever, even against ten thousand Yankees, if only General Braxton Bragg had acted decisively in the early, crucial hours of battle.

Sam listened intently, hoping to hear the secret of what made men courageous. And then he told them all about San Juan Hill, where he had never been.

After dinner, they went out into the backyard and arm-wrestled across a plank table. Kenan rolled up his sleeves and beat five of the young men in succession.

“Old Iron Bill,” Sergeant Alton Lockamy said.

“Indestructible,” agreed the young men, grinning.

Sam wondered what Kenan was trying to prove.

They took turns pissing into the oleanders along the board fence. Kenan woke the puppies and showed them off. The Reverend Hoge got very drunk and left quite suddenly. Walker Taylor drank very little and kept pulling out his gold watch.

Sam wondered what Gray Ellen was doing. He checked his own watch—almost ten o’clock. He wanted to stay, but he felt he should go. Just a few minutes longer. He wasn’t drinking. This was good company. She would understand.

Inside again, they all smoked cigars. Sam took one from Kenan. A couple of the young men drifted away. At eleven, Walker Taylor went out as if he had somewhere else to go. At midnight, Captain James left. Realizing he was the only one still sitting in the parlor, Sam got up to leave also.

“Stay a minute,” Kenan said, putting a firm hand on his arm.