The singing should have drawn the attention of the sentries once the men crested the ridge above the pond.
None of the men expected the island had more to reveal, but all of them knew something was very wrong when no one greeted their arrival. The singing simply trailed off as men looked for more living.
“Set your loads down and fan out. Approach the camp slowly.” Robert spoke loudly enough to be heard.
Whatever had occurred was done, engraved in time and unchangeable. The sickening feeling of inevitability that accompanied General Cornell’s death was a weight on Robert’s shoulders as he neared the camp. He knew in his soul the beast had come and gone while the revolt occurred at the camp.
Men swarmed silently into the camp, searching everything with slow silent movements until they opened a canvas flap to one shelter.
“Oh, dear God in heaven,” the man fell back in shock, then looked up. “Major, here.”
Men stopped and watched as Robert walked to the shelter. A rasp of flint in steel presaged a gout of fire on a torch. The firebrand passed to Robert, who kneeled and peered into the shelter as snow swirled around him. He lowered the torch and moved it inside the shelter to better understand what he was seeing.
“They’re dead. Check that one,” Robert pointing at the other shelter. A few of the men glanced under the open roof.
“It’s empty.”
Robert stood and made a slow turn with the torch held out.
The men were grim, their faces taut. It took no genius to know what they were thinking. They were past fear.
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“Yea, though we stand in the valley of the shadow of death,” Robert prayed slowly. “It was the Robber King. The raft these men were building, is gone. It will allow none of us to leave this island. It knows our intentions and our weaknesses,”
Allowing the last words to stew, Robert walked to the fire pit and used the torch to set the stacked wood ablaze.
“We have no reinforcements,” Robert regarded the growing flames, as his men drew close. “This is an island with no place to run, water always at our back. We have no friends here, and it is winter with no re-supply vessel. The Union hunts us, and a beast kills us.”
“Do you remember Sharpsburg?” Men nodded. They had been there for three days of hell. “Remember on the morning of the third day we all thought we were dead, that we would remain on that smoke shrouded field of war and stench for eternity?”
“What grave judgment must we face for our sins? Why us? Are we forsaken for our support of slavery? I’ve never owned slaves. How can I owe that debt? I, like you, fought because it was the only way I could protect my family in this war.”
“We all knew we had a chance to live at Sharpsburg. But here we will die. Between Pace and the Robber King; this is our last field of battle, our valley of death, and we shall not escape.”
Robert stirred the fire to greater heights, pulled the last cigar from his pocket, lit it by holding the tobacco to flame, then puffed grimly.
“We cannot give up. We are Rebels. To surrender means we accept death passively, like an old man in bed. This is not so. We are young and vibrant, deserving of a full measure of life after the hell we have endured. We are Rebels, heart and soul, and I would not sooner give myself to the Robber King without a fight than surrender to Lieutenant Pace. I will fight!”
Robert looked at his men, knowing they all deserved this last choice. “Who will stand with me?”
Men stood straighter, prouder. Despite the torture of Coal Island, each man could brave the horror that awaited them all.
“You never needed to ask. What do you want us to do?” Corporal Anders answered for the men.
“Fight.” Robert pointed. “Set a palisade on the ridge and a wall around this clearing. Let’s make it hard for our enemy to reach us. We need to bury the dead and tend the wounded. Set to gentlemen, the King and Pace won’t wait for us to get ready.”