Once clear of the thicket, the two men moved quickly. The northern lights still moved overhead, eliminating any doubt about their path, all stones and trees easily seen. The trip up the ridge passed rapidly as Robert considered the Irishman’s words. Too much had occurred for Robert to ignore the warnings.
The scrub pine of the ridge replaced by tall trees as they descended the slope.
The woods felt different, passing from intimidating to threatening. Noise followed the men, branches snapped and leaves rustled as if an unseen host of men followed the progress of Robert and Anders from deep in the woods.
Shadows seemed to separate from trees and dart away, hovering just out of sight.
This was the behavior Robert had expected on the northern passage when the presence of a large group of Rebels should have attracted attention or, at the least, Union guards.
The woods were tainted land just as Sergeant Burns suggested, perhaps the entire island as well. It was the same feel as a battlefield, the home of death and destruction, pain, and horror.
Robert halted abruptly as the realization affected viscerally. This was its home.
Corporal Anders turned back to Cane with concern. “Is something wrong?”
Looking at the forest with eyes unbiased by his own desire to survive, Robert felt understanding was fully within his grasp. What did he know other than war? How much humanity remained of his tattered soul?
There were so many shadows in the trees, alive and independent, in the branches overhead or peeking from behind tree trunks as they watched the passage of the living.
There were as many shadows as there were dead men on this island.
This was his destiny. Every man on this island had sped straight as an arrow through life to this place. Just like the dead on a battlefield, doomed to an eternity far from those they loved, interred friend and foe alike in a place of battle.
It felt... right, as if Robert finally existed with fate and followed with certainty the path set before him by God.
Even if he survived Coal Island, it would remain a millstone about Robert’s neck for an eternity.
Robert looked at Corporal Anders, wondering if revealing his thoughts was wise. The Corporal’s face was darker. Glancing skyward, Robert saw the northern lights were fading away. “Let’s get back to camp.”
They soon exited the woods and made their way across the field. The sky to the east was lighting in false dawn. They only had half an hour before the parade. They would make it to the camp in time, but it was best to be certain.
“Double time, Corporal.”
But there was an elemental truth to their situation; they had been absent from camp far too long.
The southern woods appeared slowly as black shapes upon the dark of night.
For a few minutes, Robert thought they had succeeded in the night’s mission, the illusion stripped away by a torch flaring to life.
In the flickering glow of the torch, twenty Union guards stood silently, watching the two Rebels with smug satisfaction. Robert and Anders had walked into the center of a trap.
Holding the torch aloft, Lieutenant Pace displayed no emotion, as if he had been simply waiting mindlessly. His youthful face oddly aged by the torchlight.
“Sergeant, take these men to the Parade Ground,” Pace passing the torch to a waiting guard.
The guards formed a cordon around Robert and Anders, the Sergeant leading them through the woods as the sky lightened in the east.
Once clear of the woods, Robert could see the guards had set torches throughout the prison camp, a sign a massive search had occurred. Apparently, Lieutenant Pace had known forty-six prisoners were gone from the moment they had left the camp.
Did he question the captured?
Lieutenant Pace’s behavior suggested Robert’s capture was satisfying enough for the moment, a pleasant victory.
Men stood silently at the Parade Ground watching the new arrivals as the sun peaked above the tree lined ridge. The guard formation stopped, then stepped aside. No orders spoken, only the hiss of the lake breaking the silence.
With a sweep of his arm, Lieutenant Pace waved the guards to the lead of the Parade Ground, where four men hung from crosstrees.
Robert made his way through the formation, parting the men with a polite hand to their shoulders, his gait slow and deliberate while the guards and Pace circled the ranks of prisoners. Looking at the grim faces of men fatigued by the long wait, he saw no anger or blame, only concern for the men tied to the stocks.
“Be careful, Major,” from another.
“The Lieutenant is mad, sir,” a different voice spoke.
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Whispering continued as Robert moved to the front of the formation. In pieces, the men confirmed four prisoners captured while trying to escape the camp with Robert.
All the prisoners had stood at Parade since the capture, Lieutenant Pace livid as the magnitude of the escape hit home. He barraged the prisoners for hours until the anger waned and a calm and lucid man stood before the Rebels. This new Lieutenant Pace was more frightening than the man who prowled the shadows and the night. This was a man who had realized he could do anything he wanted to the prisoners.
Stepping out of the formation revealed Robert to the stern gaze of General Cornell, who was standing in his customary location leading the men. Corporal Anders stopped a few paces behind and to the left of the General.
Robert took position on the General’s right.
“I hope your mission is worth the price.” General Cornell said grimly as he tilted his head at the four shackled men.
“They never are,” Robert remembering hundreds of men he knew who had died in the war.
The Lieutenant was nearing his victims, the difference between the prisoners and guards stark in the comparison of rags to Pace’s impeccable uniform. The men hanging from the crosstrees wore nothing suitable for the cold, what rags they bore tattered and ripped.
Lieutenant Pace stopped near the crosstrees, the guard spreading out to form a firing line to either side of the condemned men, with rifles at arms as if waiting for the rest of the Rebels to revolt. All the available Union guards now surrounded the Confederate prisoners with weapons ready. It was a show of force that portended nothing good.
“My rules were simple,” Lieutenant Pace spoke loudly, reasonably, his youthful tone rising in tenor while shouting. “No escape attempts. This is for your welfare.”
“It is five miles to the far shore in freezing water.” He persuaded. “It is a journey no sane man would take willingly.”
“Unless the man wants to get away from you,” a challenge softly from the prisoner ranks. Despite his wholehearted agreement with the sentiment, Robert knew it was a fool’s chance to share the opinion openly. He turned and looked at the prisoner. “Silence.”
“This island is now your home and I your keeper.” Pace continued without acknowledging the incident. “How am I to keep you safe if I am resisted by your officers, by the very men who should know better than to raise ill humor?”
“This behavior tonight is a challenge to my authority, a deliberate gesture as offensive to me as the cowardice of a man who attempts an escape but lacks the will to join his compatriots.” Lieutenant Pace pointedly gazed at Robert. “He is a man who trembles in fear while brave men die.”
General Cornell looked at Robert in concern, but the Major stood silent. The overwhelming feeling for Robert was relief. Lieutenant Pace did not know of the night’s true activities.
“By your own actions, I am forced to fulfill the role on this island.” Pace nodded to himself, then waved a hand at the Sergeant who had taken position to the Lieutenant’s right.
The Sergeant, an immense man, pointed to eight of the Union guards then waved them to a line twenty feet in front of the shackled prisoners.
Angry voices rose from the prisoners as the guard detail stopped, then turned left to face the condemned men on the order of the Sergeant.
“Lieutenant,” General Cornell protested and moved to the side of his men, staring across the condemned to Lieutenant Pace. “This is no reason to execute the prisoners!”
Annoyance crossed the Lieutenant’s features with a slight downturn of his mouth.
“There is no disrespect in the simple desire to go home.” Cornell reasoned. “So many of us have died here that escape becomes our only hope. Can you not understand this? It is this island we fear... not you.”
Hatred consumed Lieutenant Pace with a hard stare. “Sergeant,”
“Ready,” the Sergeant intoned. The firing squad raised their rifles.
The shock that Pace will take his punishment to this extreme. One of the shackled men looked away, the others prayed.
“Aim,” the Sergeant spoke after a few heartbeats.
General Cornell seemed to panic, moving toward Lieutenant Pace, his hands out as he pled. “Please do not do this!”
Shouts of outrage came from the Confederate ranks, drawing Lieutenant Pace’s attention from the General.
“Stop!” Robert pointed at General Cornell to bring the Union officers’ gaze back to the true importance.
“Fire,” the Sergeant brought his hand down in a clapping motion.
All eight Union soldiers of the firing squad pulled their triggers.
The condemned men jerked to the impact of bullets, red wounds blossoming on their chests. General Cornell fell to the ground. All the Rebels know the great man was dead, many seeing the spray of blood that issued from the small man’s head.
In a casual move, Pace turned to look at the dead, the deliberate nature of the act speaking volumes to the men watching in rapt horror.
The Sergeant barked another order, his voice lost to Robert. He walked to the body and knelt unaware of the eyes that followed him. Robert gently turned General Cornell to his back. He was dead. A grievous wound shattered the general’s temple. Robert closed the general’s eyes with a light touch.
No matter their differences, this was a man Robert liked and respected. This was not how the general should have died. Looking at the bodies slumped at the crosstrees held upright by chains, Robert knew this was not how they should have died.
Lieutenant Pace was shouting something, but Robert paid no heed. He did not notice the outrage and anger of the southern men threatening to break into full riot.
The Union soldiers were preparing to fire their rifles in to the crowd of prisoners.
Pace walked quickly to Robert, pulled his pistol, and aimed it at Robert’s head from inches away. “Tell your men to hold their positions!” Lieutenant Pace shouted. “Tell them now!”
Looking up at the rage threatening to burst from the young lieutenant, Robert instead focused on the pistol barrel hovering in front of his eyes.
“Hold,” Robert commanded, his eyes locked on Pace.
The Rebel soldiers quieted and sullenly resumed their formation, hatred etched on their faces.
“Have you killed enough men today, Lieutenant?”
“Why didn’t you leave this island?” Pace asked thru gritted teeth, the pistol still aimed at Robert.
Robert shrugged, ignoring the pistol. “I am here for you, Lieutenant.”
“What does that mean?”
Saying nothing, Robert only stared at Pace as the Union guards shifted restlessly, worried.
A shot rang out, followed by the hiss of a minnie ball passing over the two men. Both officers looked at the woods two hundred feet away, where a cloud of gun smoke revealed the location of the shooter.
Robert smiled. “Looks like I’m not the only man on this island who hates you.”
Lieutenant Pace glared at Robert, then shouted at the Sergeant. “Find that man.”
“Only Union men have rifles on this island. Look to your own Lieutenant.”
“Get your men to work, Major.” Pace moved away while issuing orders to the rest of the Union guards, all of men joining the hunt for the mysterious gunman.
Looking into the woods, Robert was certain Sergeant Burns had fired the shot to distract Lieutenant Pace before the boy could kill the only remaining Confederate officer on Coal Island.
“Sir,” Corporal Anders had moved to Robert’s side.
“I don’t give a damn what that child wants. Prepare the General and our own for burial. Everyone else build a mausoleum next to the colonel’s vault.” Robert turned his attention to Pace as the Lieutenant harangued his troops.
“Yes Sir,” Anders’ and the southerners gathered around the bodies.
“Prepare fifty more men to move north tonight.” Robert set to the grim task of burial.