During the long day, more realities set in, forcing an honest appraisal of the situation.

“We’ll make a monument vault later,” Robert decided in the smoky confines of the barracks. “The general was a great man, but even he would tell you we need to tend to priorities first. Our situation is untenable. The guards have the weaponry and Lieutenant Pace has the will to kill us. I see no attempt to ration the Union Food supply. Pace will keep his troops well fed before us, even to our starvation. They will overwork us to suppress us and to keep our minds off these awful truths.”

The prisoners in the smoke-filled room listened with rapt attention, men guarding the doors against Union intrusion into this last bastion of privacy. All the prisoners packed into the cramped barracks.

Now was the time to address Lieutenant Pace’s accusation of cowardice. Even if the men did not believe the lie, they had to know the truth. “The men who left here last night are preparing a means to escape this place before the lake freezes. While it is possible, we may die at the hands of northern civilians or by drowning in this damn lake, we will most certainly die if we stay on this island. We have no choice but to risk the lake.”

Their excited response hushed to stay quiet and avoid drawing attention.

“To achieve this end, we must collect food and our possessions,” the response heartened Robert.

All the men raised a hand or nodded assent. Until this moment, most of them had believed they were required to endure incident after incident until death touched their shoulder. Coal Island had shown a definite desire to kill them all.

“First you will all gather your belongings, then return here.” Robert instructed. “If any guard questions, you tell them I have ordered us all into the barracks. When we have all returned here, I will explain our next move. Go.”

Men vacated the barracks quickly, purpose once again in their step.

Robert waved Corporal Anders away. “Go get your belongings. Avoid the guards. I fear they will kill you to handicap me.”

Outside the barracks in the early night, snow floated in the light wind. “Aw crap.” The tracks of his fleeing men would be easy to follow in the fresh snow; they would have to leave as soon as possible to reduce the chance of detection.

Very few Union guards were visible, most standing near fires to keep warm in the cold. During the daylight hours, none of the Union guards had bothered the Rebels as they interred the dead, spending most of the day in the graveyard building a simple crypt of red stone close to Colonel Beltram’s crypt. The two men would be as close in death as they had been in life. Perhaps Pace knew how close the prison was to an uprising and had ordered his men away from the prisoners. Robert did not know what motivated the boy. He simply remained thankful there had been no need to talk with Pace.

Entering his hut, Robert felt no connection with the hovel, it was just one more dirt floor hut or tent in four years of travel and battle. Pace would chase the Rebels. He had no choice, and the pursuit would lead to yet another battle. Robert picked up the small haversack containing all his personal possessions, no longer shocked by all that was taken from him over the years.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Major,” a deep voice broke Robert’s thought. He turned to find the Union Sergeant at the open door of the hut. “The Commandant request your presence at the warehouse.”

“And are you to escort me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go then,” brushing past the Sergeant Robert, shook his head. Was this the time to break free of the prison? Or was it better to make one last effort to avoid battle in honor of General Cornell?

“How do you justify leading the execution of my men, Sergeant?” Robert walked, unaffected by the snow.

“Orders, sir,” was the neutral reply.

“You are one of the few Union men to see battle,” Robert observed. “You know there are orders that must be ignored for the sake of humanity.”

“I know all about orders, Major.” The large man replied brusquely. “Antietam taught me no officer of any rank knows the price of their heroics. You took a chance last night, and as usual, your men paid the price. Officers only get upset when one of their own dies.”

Robert stopped and looked at the Sergeant. “You justify assisting in the murder of my men with your hatred of me.”

“All officers,” the Sergeant stared back, “including my own, are right bloody bastards.”

Resuming the walk to the storehouse was the only response Robert could manage. “Claiming no responsibility for his actions does not give a man absolution before God. You deserve your fate.”

“Whatever you say, major,” the Sergeant did not pursue the argument.

A few minutes of walking brought them to the warehouse. The Sergeant motioned the Union guards at the door to step aside for Robert allowing the Confederate officer in to the warehouse. Sparing no further thought for the Sergeant, Robert opened the crude wooden door and entered the warehouse, expecting a room filled with Union soldiers.

Lieutenant Pace stood alone in the large room, a pencil and paper in his hands as he silently surveyed the supplies. The smooth, emotionless face of a boy was now drawn and harried as if events had finally come to rest on his conscience.

“What do you want?” Robert was unwilling to wait on Pace’s leisure.

Startled out of his reverie, Pace looked at Robert, Pace’s eyes stricken with pain.

“What do you want?” Robert repeated.

“I” Pace swallowed audibly, closed his eyes, and took a breath. When he opened his eyes, the man who stood at the execution faced Robert.

“We are short supplies. We must tighten our belts.”

There was no surprise for Robert, yet he made a show of looking at the supplies. The room was full. There was more food than the Army of Virginia normally carried during a march. There was enough food to last the winter, a testament to the diligence of Colonel Beltram.

“Perhaps you could ration food for the guards.” Robert observed humorlessly.

“This is not about sides,”

“Of course not. You just wish to starve the men who fought for the Confederacy.”

“You think I am the enemy?” Pace seethed.

“There is no thinking about it,” Robert smiled foully. “When the war is over, you will answer for the men you have killed on this accursed island.”

“If we survive.” Pace amended.

“Someone always survives. Our story will be told.”

“Not on this island.” Pace seemed to break from the devil that claimed him. “What did you mean, you are here for me?”

Eyebrows raised, Robert asked. “You don’t believe in fate?”

“Not anymore.” Pace turned his back on Robert as if the discussion was no longer important. “Please leave Major.”

Nodding to himself, Robert opened the warehouse door and stepped into fresh air, certain it was luck of divine providence that allowed him to continue breathing.

The Sergeant was still waiting outside the warehouse, a tired expression on his face.

“Half rations,” he addressed the unspoken question. “That should make you happy, Sergeant,” Robert walked away.