Unlike Vicksburg, where the Union Army set a huge mine under the Rebel walls, the explosion was not a cloud of dirt, smoke, and bodies. It came as a muffled thump and cracking stone that was more felt than heard. The ominous creaks and cracks rose in volume and pitch until a final deep boom that left only silence and awestruck men.
In the void, while men in the quarry looked to the west wall and tried to understand what had just happened and men on the wall looked down at their feet, Robert found the fortune he sought. Gathering every ounce of air in his lungs, Robert screamed a command. “Run!”
Robert’s order echoed in the quiet for only a moment, then men reacted, all men running from the wall, masons jumping from ladders, quarrymen dropping their tools, sledges and lumber abandoned as men stripped themselves of leather harnesses.
A new groan started, deep and resonant, a cry of stone issuing a last protest; the men running in the quarry and on the west wall, too busy to see the sudden gout of water arcing from the stone.
As urgent as the need to escape was, Robert stood transfixed by the rapidly growing stream of water. The answer to the question posed by Colonel Beltram has arrived. How much weight could the west wall hold? Not enough.
The very hand of God slapped the granite wall, spraying boulders, stone shards, and water at the fleeing men. A thick mist rapidly covered the area of the break, bloody men emerging from the mist as the wall crumbled beneath their feet.
In the quarry, men clawed at each other as they fought to reach the ramp. More men were emerging from the cave, joining the throng, the screams louder than the rustling water.
The crowds of men on the relative safety of the quarry rim could only watch their desperate brothers in horror.
Robert fell, rocked from his feet, only to be pulled to his feet and dragged from the expanding rift in the wall, the roar of water growing louder.
Robert caught the briefest glimpse of Union troops on the north edge of the wall. Then more of the wall collapsed, crushing men, and raising thicker clouds of mist.
Fear turned to distress as water swept men from their feet and rose so fast it poured into the cave entrance.
Prisoners were pulling men from the ramp, their shouts lost in the noise while Robert, buffeted by his men, swept off the west wall to safe land. He dug his feet in and withstood the panic, turning to see bloody and frightened men still on the wall lose their balance, then fall as the remaining southern portion of the wall tilted and fell into the quarry.
The water roared in from Lake Superior, a terrible beast intent on claiming souls, lifting stored wood from the quarry floor, adding it to the churning maelstrom crushing swimmers.
Men on the rim of the quarry tried to pluck doomed men from the water with ropes, anything they could find to reach the drowning men. Scrambling to the edge, Robert reached down to grasp one of the many outstretched hands. The water level rose quickly. The water was almost thirty feet deep in the quarry, and the hands were so close.
Deep under water, the timber wall at the mouth of the wall gave way to the pressure. For a second, everything on the water’s surface paused as if taking a deep breath, then the water shook violently and spun. Men and lumber flowed to the northern wall, then sucked under the surface, forever lost.
Robert watched in horror as the struggling men moved swiftly away and the water level fell.
There were screams as a few would be rescuers fell into the quarry and joined the nightmare, but men swimming in the quarry were too intent on survival to scream.
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Robert watched it all as he lay at the edge of the quarry, recognizing too many of men sucked under the turbulent waters. It seemed to take hours for Lake Superior to fill the quarry and cave. Only the roar of the water remaining as all men and debris disappeared, whisked to an underground hell.
Eventually the water level rose, and the turbulence ceased, signaling the end of the flood.
“Major,” a firm hand grasped Robert’s arm and pulled him to his feet. It was Sergeant Burns, his normally impassive face stricken with pain in his eyes. “We need you.”
Someone pressed Robert’s cap into his hands. It was Corporal Anders, remorseful despite the blood flowing from a gash on his cheek. Robert saw many men were silently watching him and hoping for an understanding of this day.
“Major, please,” Sergeant Burns repeated, his voice thick.
“Yes Sergeant,” Robert placed the hat on his head and followed Burns, his legs weak and troubled.
Confederate soldiers made way for the men while watching with a mixture of shock and anger. Robert could only feel shame, knowing he should have understood the danger in time to save the men.
They circled the quarry that was now a small bay. A few of the fishing boats were rowing into view, intent on recovering bodies. A few corpses had floated to the surface of the bay.
More men had gathered at the north shore of the bay. The crowd parted and Sergeant Burns gestured Robert to the men at the center of the crowd.
Beltram lay stricken on the ground, his gray face now white, his mouth open as he hardly seemed to breathe, and his head supported by General Cornell.
Were it deliberate timing or simple coincidence, Lieutenant Pace burst through the crowd of men livid with anger, as Robert walked to the colonel’s side.
“Take your hands off him, you Rebel bastards!” Pace shouted.
Drenched from head-to-toe, Pace was pointing a finger furiously at General Cornell.
Instinctively, Robert’s hand rose to his waist where a pistol once hung. Noticing the movement, Lieutenant Pace pulled his own revolver and pointed it at Robert.
Any good will remaining was gone. Angry murmurs and shouts came from the Confederate prisoners as the circle of men tightened around the few Union soldiers standing with Pace. The Union guards raised their rifles warily.
“Put that weapon away whelp,” General Cornell glared at Pace.
Robert kneeled next to the colonel, toweling the stricken man’s neck. “He’s weak.”
Left with no choice, Pace holstered his pistol and joined the officers.
“He collapsed when men starting drowning,” Cornell bitterly turning his attention to his friend. “His health has been low for months, but this tragedy...”
Robert nodded. Men fell during battle for many reasons.
“Sergeant Burns, you need to take the colonel to his hut.” Cornell looked at Burns. “Get someone to take care of him while we sort out this mess.”
“You do not give the orders here, General.” While the words were correct, there was no deference to the General. Pace’s words were angry and challenging.
“No Rebel on this island will take orders from you.” Robert stared at Pace with cold eyes, rage hidden beneath a polite exterior. “Your examination of the west wall has failed. You have cost us lives.”
“I was on the wall when it collapsed,” Pace protested angrily, his hand drifting towards his revolver.
“As was I,” Robert nodded towards Pace’s moving hand. “Touch that weapon and I will kill you.”
“Enough.” the voice was rough and weak, but still held authority.
Exhaustion seemed to pour from the man, but Colonel Beltram’s eyes were open. “I am in command. There will be no gunfire.” Beltram’s anger eased a bit, sorrow visible. “There is a great deal of work to do. We must tend to the living and mourn for the dead.”
In the silence, Sergeant Burns and several rebels constructed a litter, while many of the men calmed themselves. Robert stared at Pace, ready to prevent any foolish behavior.
“Lieutenant, inventory our stores.” Beltram lay placed on the litter. “Robert. You know what I need. Please see to it.”
“Yes Sir.” Robert nodded, then helped General Cornell to his feet. The General patted Robert’s shoulder with a shaking hand then followed the litter to Beltram’s hut.
Robert and Pace remained in the center of the crowd, the Rebel soldiers waiting for their leader.
“What did he mean?” Pace asked quietly.
“The butcher’s bill,” Robert could not help the growl. “We need to know how many men you killed.”
“I do not need to hear this tripe.” Pace squared his shoulders and stormed away, the prisoners no longer making way for the Union men.
The hostility had begun, and despite his need to find peace, Robert found he did not care. Sometimes the good Lord required men to fight evil, and it seemed such a moment came to Coal Island. There was evil in the Lieutenant.
With a heavy heart, Robert returned to the tragedy.
“Corporal Anders. Please muster the men.”