The men surrounding the quay sang a robust, almost cheerful, rendition of Dixie, the song gaining strength quickly.

It was overwhelming, Robert turning his head and holding a hand up to cover his eyes. He steadied his breath. The tang of wood smoke and the acrid smell of so many men serving a calming effect. The sight of so many Southerners was confusing; it was both comforting and alarming. Friends in an enemy’s land and there were just so many of them.

Robert lowered his hand a few inches to cover his mouth and watched the sergeant in command of the Tulip’s guards detail gestured to a door leading below decks. Robert nodded confirmation, hoping his men would be relieved to escape the confines of the brigs’ hold.

With a casual salute, the sergeant unlocked the hatch, then swung the door open.

Crawling from the depths, Robert’s soldiers quickly crowded the deck, eager to see the source of singing. For them, the long march was over, the ordeal complete. Finding welcoming smiles in this place raised the hearts of the arriving Confederate soldiers.

A cheer broke forth from the prisoners aboard the Tulip, that became deafening when the rebels ashore responded. In the bedlam, musical instruments joined the singing as more men reached the event.

Ropes thrown to the rafts pulled taut as sailors lowered the last of the sails and, with practice speed, drew the brig to the wooden dock. The revelry intensified once the Tulip moored.

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Robert laughed aloud for the first time in months. It was a lightening of his heart that was more than he hoped would occur, the depression that had claimed him dispelling just as sunlight seemed to penetrate the gloom of the island.

It was in this moment of brightness that Robert saw his first union soldier on Coal Island.

A small troop of union soldiers formed in a rectangle with rifles held high forced their way through the crowd and onto the pier, driving the prisoners away from a Union Lieutenant who strode imperiously in their midst.

The guards and sailors aboard the Tulip moved to the stern of the brig and the commanding presence of Captain Marsh, all of them appearing wary of the approaching officer.

Robert’s good mood was gone. What had this young man done in the past? Robert mused as he watched the proceedings with an expert eye. He gauged the quality of the officer as the Lieutenant pressed his men further into the crowd.

Laughter died as the guards worked their way through the crowd of prisoners. The very presence of the Lieutenant seemed to sap the vigor from the prisoners. The singing stopped, cheering stopped, even the men chanting a ditty while using one of the tall timber cranes to seat a gangway for the Tulip stopped singing.

“Make way boys,” Robert spoke loud enough for only his men to hear, “a right bastard is coming aboard.”

His men grudgingly complied, creating a path leading from Robert to the gangway as it set in place and the hoisting ropes removed. They stopped talking and stood at attention, their professionalism apparent even if their clothes looked torn and tattered.

It was here that the road north ended, yet while prisoners of war, the southern men were still proud and strong.

In the moments he waited for Lieutenant, Robert understood they all stood at the edge of a precipice; a single misstep would send them to a hell of chaos and starvation.

He knew one fact and held on to it with a fierce determination and strength forged by war; they must survive.

It was too easy to be forgotten.