The union escort parted as it neared the fire, allowing Lieutenant Pace the opportunity to hurry to the fire and plead his case like an errant child. Robert could hear part of the conversation as he resumed whistling a slow rendition of Dixie while he continued to near the fire at a deliberate pace.
Most of the men at the fire seemed amused by the young lieutenant.
“You thought not to inquire the Major’s name, Lieutenant?” The colonel asked politely.
“I,” Pace stammered under scrutiny.
“Major Robert Cane of the Third Mississippi,” Robert extended a hand to the colonel. The old officer took the proffered hand with a grin.
The colonel stood slowly with difficulty and Roberts’s aid, eventually placing his weight on the thick wooden cane and the help of a union sergeant. He was so slight of build that he appeared mortally ill; the Sergeant tending him hovered close should the colonel collapse from weakness.
A brass shamrock adorned the top of the colonel’s hat, identifying him as a member of the Irish Brigade. When the colonel spoke, his New York accent was mellowed by time and distance.
“Welcome to Coal Island, Major Cane.”
“I apologize for the Lieutenants’ plight. I did not offer my name.”
The colonel smiled and nodded, but both men knew Pace had made a mistake that left the officer without information. It was another sign of Paces youth.
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The colonel ignored the situation for the moment. Robert, suspecting there would be a quiet conversation between the colonel and his young protégé once they were alone, concentrated on the requirements of a gentleman.
“May I present General Cornell, late of Rhodes Division.” he gestured to the old general, who stood and shook Robert’s hand. “I am colonel Martin Beltram, of the proud Irish.”
“General,” Robert nodding politely. “They captured you near Harpers Ferry.”
“Unfortunately, so Major, you were with General Heath of Longstreet’s Corps?”
“Yes, sir.” Robert moved to change his mind; this encampment was a decided difference from the first impression supplied by Lieutenant Pace; perhaps the island would be tolerable. “They took us after Gettysburg.”
“General Rhodes was a good man, regular army before the war.” Most senior officers were members of the small national army prior to the onset of war, and most knew each other in the social circles that formed in isolated bases.
Taking Robert’s arm for support, the colonel walked from the fire. Robert quickly glanced around to see what was taking place and found Captain Marsh standing close by. The man’s movements had been silent.
“If I may,” the captain coughed politely. “I have seen too many indicators to remain quiet. I believe we are facing an early winter. Perhaps you can increase production while I manage a second ship to increase sales and supply return.”
“General?” Beltran passed the decision to Cornell.
The silver-haired general rubbed his chin as they walked slowly, considering the question. He was a small man, filled with vigor. He was also a graduate of West Point, as was the colonel, and Robert suspected. The general’s reputation before capture was that of a man capable of commanding troops in battle and off the field. Robert had heard no complaints, which suggested a man the troops liked.
Gently, Robert gave more support for the frail man, his hand trembling on Robert’s arm.
“I trust our excellent captain’s judgment,” General Cornell patted the sailor’s shoulder. “This is his lake.”
“You honor me, General.” Marsh bowed humbly.
Cornell laughed. “I simply want more food.”
Many of the men near the conversation laughed at the witticism, while Lieutenant Pace continued to glower at his enemies.