It took Corporal Anders four days to find a capable carpenter. The delay was not for lack of volunteers or capability. Most of the southern men were country born. The problem was no one had built anything required to float on water.

Lake Superior seemed angry, water sweeping the quay construction, forcing the prisoners to redesign the wall as they worked to reach the lighthouse. They worked between surges of water until a seawall rose twenty feet above the quay. The new construction more than protected the prisoners and provided shelter from the wild waters.

It was not a simple task. Wind and rain added to their misery as men set enormous granite blocks to the instruction of the few remaining masons. In less time than Robert expected, the quay was dry and work crews were rapidly building the lighthouse.

No complaints spoken, and no work refused. To blunt Lieutenant Pace’s presence, General Cornell walked over the seawall, encouraging the men.

Robert spent his time with the working men helping to produce the masons’ desires or watching Lieutenant Pace with no regard to courtesy, his stare so blatant he could only be called rude. To the prisoners, it seemed Major Cane was not only protecting them from the Union officer, but was also daring Lieutenant Pace to step out of line or made an unjust accusation.

Most of the men now suspected war was coming, the reason for the coming battle unclear. Private Holm’s story had taken root, with many men believing the Robber King was the island’s illness. They believed the Robber King was taking men at night, the hapless victims swept from sight to die horribly. The Robber King had somehow destroyed the Tulip. Many men had seen the ripped flesh and blood aboard the ship. Even the flooding of the quarry was now the action of the Robber King, somehow collapsing the wall.

Other men believed Lieutenant Pace’s hatred was enough to kill them all.

The former soldiers could feel war coming closer with each passing day.

The four-day search had seemed to take weeks, but eventually Corporal Anders sat beside Major Cane on their customary log after most of the men had gone to sleep.

“Who is he?” Robert drawn from his reverie of the fire.

“Private Haskel of Company E,” Anders grinned.

“The tall fellow?” Robert nodded.

“The very man. He built river rafts down by Memphis before the war. He needs a crew of men to help, but he thinks he can build four rafts in a month.”

“All I need is one big raft. What about my Robber King hunters?”

“No lack of volunteers, sir,” Anders glanced about. “I think everyone wants a piece of that critter.”

“Good. Call them here. Now.”

“Yes Sir,” Anders stood and gave a cocky salute. Acting rather than waiting was good for the soul. Both men felt alive and strong once again.

Within minutes, men began arriving at the fire. Robert gestured for men to sit, the first few filling the seats as a gentle wind wafted smoke away.

Fifty men and the raft builders, by Robert’s count. All but a few of the men had fought with Robert, good men with courage and strong hearts.

“Post a watch. Four men twenty paces out. Watch for guards or Lieutenant Pace. No one comes to the fire,”

“Sir,” Anders pointed four men out and shoed them away from the fire.

“Gentlemen, what we say stays here with us,” Robert spoke in a low voice, the men leaning close. “We move north now. Tonight. Corporal Anders and I will return, but you will build the raft. Understood?”

The men whispered in anticipation.

“We move fast. Leave the fire, get your belongings and a bedroll. Meet me by Colonel Beltram’s grave.” Robert stood and gazed at the men for a moment.

“Make no mistakes boys, the minute you build a raft, the Robber King will attack you, just like it did the crew of the Tulip.” The men were ready to go. They would go on trusting Robert to make the right decision.

“Go. You have ten minutes.”

The soldiers moved into the night. Robert glanced at General Cornell’s cabin, then turned and walked to his hut. Four days was long enough to trust in a capricious fate. They had to survive.

In his hut, Robert had a satchel prepared with food and bottles of water. Glancing about the small room, Robert felt a brief hesitation, then steeled himself. The time for patience and honor was past. General Cornell represented the honor and dignity of old Virginia, a lost cause after nearly four years of war. He grabbed the bag and a walking stick, then departed the hut and its false comfort.

There was no alarm or angry Union guards. Walking casually, Robert used the stick to guide his way into the dark. The events on the Tulip had given Robert the root of his idea, a plan so simple he did not need to deal with details, details he had consciously avoided. It seemed the creature attacked when confronted with the possibility of losing victims.

With no one to witness the emotion, Robert smiled with ghoulish delight. It was better to fight for life than simply lay down and die, and too many men had died while following the general’s orders.

A good officer could adapt to the changing requirements of a battlefield. By returning the logic of a stable world where creatures like the Robber King did not exist, the General had damned them all.

Time changed the battle.

Would the Robber King try to stop the prisoner? Robert suspected the creature would attack.

Robert passed from the camp to a path leading around the woods bordering the southern arm of the ridgeline. Majestic oak trees crowded over the trail, so dark it was almost impossible to discern. It was the perfect night to move men north.

Away from the campfires, Robert’s vision adjusted to the night, the path slowly coming into view. He had made so many night marches over the years that walking in the dark was easy to do. Night marches were the perfect time to think.

What would a man do if the devil whispered in his ear? Would he know evil for its true form?

Robert thought he might understand Lieutenant Pace. Over the past several days, Robert had given the boy considerable thought, memories of his own youth shedding light on the problematic lieutenant.

As a boy, Robert sat on a church pew every Sunday and listened to fire and brimstone sermons from evangelists while the sweet smell of magnolias flooded the church. It was the world he wished to see again. The lessons remained to be remembered in this time of need.

Pace had been chasing an allusive soldier dressed in blue. Aboard the Tulip, the creature was clothed in a blue uniform. It took no stretch of the imagination to see the similarity. There was even an adequate explanation for both incidents; the Robber King sought the weakest point of attack, the weakest men, and the weakest link to civilization.

Not that Robert thought the Robber King possessed Lieutenant Case, but it was possible the creature was influencing Pace.

Low voices interrupted Robert’s thoughts. He was close to the graveyard. A few of the men were waiting on the path with Corporal Anders.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“Set a guard.” Men quickly complied with the order.

More men drifted in, each carrying a pack and bedroll on their back.

They waited for the rest of the prisoners to arrive; soft whispers occasional in the silence as the men watched the night.

Corporal Anders grabbed Robert’s arm. “Sir. The Colonel’s grave.”

In the woods, past dozens of grave markers and below an immense oak tree, a faint glow pulsed above the colonel’s grave as if breathing, the light washing weak color from the tomb and trees.

One man exclaimed, “It’s the colonel!”

“Quiet!”

The specter looked like Colonel Beltram, his coat, arms, then face coming in to focus until the man seemed to stand on his tomb regarding the prisoners with dead eyes.

The colonel tilted his head toward the sound of running men, Robert turning away from the sight obediently.

“The guards are coming!” A breathless prisoner whispered between gasps for air.

“Haskel, are you here?” Robert inquired the shadow men.

“Present, Major,” came a quick reply.

Robert looked at the tomb and felt a sense of disappointment. The ghost was gone.

“Move out. No noise.”

With practical ease, the soldiers walked the dark path, forming a line of fifty men with Corporal Anders in the lead. The trick was to walk at a steady pace while each man concentrated on the vague form of a man to their front. They made very little noise as they moved from the woods to the field.

The Union guards disappeared far behind, never having seen the prisoners. Robert suspected the guards had only gone as far as the cemetery. The Rebels were shy of a few men; it was possible the guards had caught a few of the prisoners, but Robert was certain the captured prisoners would not betray the night’s activity.

The clouds moved slowly overhead and cleared away to leave stars shining brightly on the moonless night.

Their journey was invigorating for Robert, feeling the yoke of the Union suppression lifted and freedom tantalizing close. It took no leap of imagination to believe he was walking a lonely trail in the Shenandoah Valley on a chilly night.

The fields passed by and the column marched into the pine woods leading slowly up the ridge. An occasional owl gave voice to break the silence, but mostly the journey was peaceful.

It was as if the Robber King was occupied elsewhere. Robert had expected an attack, as it was the march was considerably faster than the last time Robert had visited the North Woods.

As they climbed the steep ridge to the crest, pine trees thinning to a stray few, the northern lights lit up the night sky as a cascade of color approaching in a jagged path from the north.

The path was clearer as lights danced in the night, vivid spikes seeming to come within a man’s reach.

The silence on the ridge was ominous, the memory of the screams heard the last time still clear in Robert’s mind. He had sent three men to investigate the screams, three of his men who were now lost.

Climbing down the reverse slope, the prisoners entered the thick wood surrounding the North Pond. They were still eerie. Thick and vaguely frightening, with traces of lights descending through the trees. It was oppressive in the woods.

The pond’s still water reflected the northern lights. The cemetery containing the bodies of thirty-four mangled and bloated bodies pulled from the pond sat to one side of the glittering water. There was something tragic about that kind of end, forgotten so completely that families would never know the last resting place of their men.

Robert half expected bodies to float to the surface as he paced the pond.

Pushing deeper into the thick woods, it was an effort to make headway. The men held their arms up to avoid slapping branches. When it seemed they could push no further, the resistance stopped, and they entered a clearing carved from the heart of the woods.

In the past month, a massive amount of work had created this shelter. Tall oaks laced their branches overhead while all the evergreens and thickets removed, leaving room for three long huts sunk in the earth, only the steep roofs visible. These solid bunkers, not huts, designed for defense.

Robert smiled approval in the firelight. This was better than he had hoped.

One man sat by the fire watching the new arrivals as if he had expected them.

As Robert stepped closer and then recognized the man in blue. “Sergeant? Is that you?”

“No use talking to him, Major,” twenty men stepped out of the trees and into the clearing. “He hasn’t said a damn thing since he got here.”

“Boyle?” Robert remembered the lumber crew leader’s name.

“Aye, sir,” the soldier neared the fire and shook Robert’s hand. “Glad to see you, sir.”

“Damn fine job,” Robert nodded to the shelters.

“I had help,” the short man gestured to the sentries. Looking at the men, Robert saw three of the men wore blue uniforms; one of them was Private Holm.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet, sir,” Holm shrugged. “He almost got me on the way here.”

More men crawled from the huts wakened by the new arrivals.

Robert recognized each man, some of them sent here by his order, but there were so many more. There had to be almost two hundred men in the encampment, a small army.

As excited voices rose happily, Robert clapped his hands, drawing the men’s attention.

“Quiet,” the voices stopped, each man looking at the Major. “Corporal Anders and I are leaving soon; we must be back at the main camp before sunup.” Many of the men frowned and shook their heads. “These are your orders. Private Haskel will build a raft. You will help him and guard the raft.”

The men cheered. Only Sergeant Burns and Private Holm remained silent.

“You must remain undiscovered,” Robert calmed the men. “You can expect guard patrols, but you must not reveal your existence unless absolutely necessary. Our survival depends on your discretion and success.”

The sobering words did not dampen the spirit of the men, their resolve and focus intent. Robert saw an eagerness to proceed to the face of death. Men who were unafraid of an ultimate end.

Robert smiled. “Get to work and good luck.”

The men cheered again, then quieted, dispersing throughout the camp.

“I would have words with the Major,” a thick Irish accent announced firmly. Sergeant Burns had spoken. “Alone.”

Robert waved the men away, keenly aware of how late the hour had grown. Most of the men returned to the shelters while a few disappeared into the woods to resume their guard duties. Sitting next to Sergeant Burns at the fire and shooing Anders away. The Corporal eventually leaned against a tree and watched the Sergeant closely.

“I left Ireland to get away from tyranny and oppression,” Burns spoke softly while looking into the fire. “My entire life was saving money to purchase tickets on a packet ship for myself and family.”

“A month it took to cross that damn ocean. A month to freedom and a month too long for my children to survive that rat infested hold we called a home aboard that ship. My wife got up two nights before landfall in New York and stepped off the side of the ship to join our children.”

Burns looked at Robert. “I lost everything while pursuing freedom. I had nothing when I stepped foot on this land. By the time I reached the foot of the pier forced into a war I knew nothing about for people I knew nothing of. Cyrus Hartley, the name of the man I replaced. I imagine he is some rich bastard who has never earned a blister in his life but will profit from my death.”

Burns held up a hand to forestall Robert’s compassionate response.

“None of it matters. From the moment I understood my family was gone, I knew I was dead; God is just taking his time to collect my soul. The colonel was the one redeeming person I met in this land,” Burns clapped his hand on Robert’s arm, “until you.”

“Honor and courage are worth more than any treasure, and both you and the colonel have them, so I give you this warning for what good it will do.” Burns released Robert’s arm and clasped his hands together while forming his thoughts and words.

“Private Holm can give you the story, but not what we are dealing with on Coal Island. In the old country, we called them Sidhe, the fairy folk. They are cruel and destructive and more than we can number. There are all types and they show themselves oddly. Avoid them if you can, but fight them if you must.”

“The creature on this island is different, savage when compared to the Sidhee in Ireland. I think it feeds on carrion and terror. It leaves signs if you know what to look for, but it is too fast to catch.”

Burns looked directly at Robert; his eyes were fierce. “It is not the thing you saw on the Tulip, that was a new arrival on this island.”

“How do,”

“I know, Major,” the Irishman’s voice rose angrily. Corporal Anders took a step toward the fire, but Robert waved him back.

“These creatures are more spirit than flesh,” Burns spoke in a low voice. “Mostly spirit in this case. Shooting them is useless, as is stabbing; their spirit will continue to destroy all they touch. You must kill the spirit.”

“Spirit?”

“Father, Son, Holy Spirit,” was the exasperated reply. “Jesus, Major, do you not remember church? The Sidhe are spirits of air and earth in Ireland, but I do not know of the unholy in this land.”

“One spirit trapped on this island?” facts beginning to mesh in Robert’s mind.

“Yes, Burns nodded. I think it may be asleep, but this is only a guess. Everything about the Sidhe is a guess other than their determination to torment humanity.”

“Trapped how?”

Burns waved a hand, showing the lake. “The water. Deep cold water is a wall to these creatures they can not cross unless helped by unwitting men. That and the nature of this island.”

Robert waited this time, unwilling to draw a flair of anger.

“Surely you feel it in the air of this place. Tell me you have seen any acre of land that hates men more than this place. The very stone of this island repels us.”

The day he had arrived at Coal Island, Robert had noticed a feel to the island, a depressing weight that settled quickly on his shoulders.

“Yes.”

Burns relaxed and smiled. “Comes with being fey.”

“Come back with me, Sergeant.” Robert did not understand the meaning of Burns’ comment. “Help me.”

“Ah darlin’.” Burns inhaled slowly. “Don’t you know we are all dead? The only thing to concern us now is how we meet that death.”

“Then help me.” Robert repeated.

“No, Major, my path is not yours.” Burns stood and stretched pained muscles. “I knew you would come here and I would give you this message. You will not see me again until we stand before God.”

“What will you do?”

“As much damage to the beasties as possible.” Burns bent and picked up his rifle and backpack. “Goodbye.”

“God be with you, Sergeant.” Robert watched as the Irishman moved across the clearing, nodded to Corporal Anders, then disappeared into the woods.

“Time to go, Corporal,” Robert stood and took a longing look at the sanctuary, then began the journey south.