It took more than a day for Robert’s anger to subside and his opinion of Lieutenant Pace to mellow. Open hatred did not help the men, living or dead, so Robert controlled his disgust and watched Pace closely.

Dead men only float for a short time in cold water and Robert now understood Lake Superior was damn cold. Within a few days, no more bodies came to the surface of the bay. Captain Marsch had been correct; this lake was a possessive bitch.

Robert lit one of the precious cigars provided by Colonel Beltram, luxuriating in the flavor and tossing the brand into the fireplace. The chimney was an addition to the cabin provided by Corporal Anders and many of the men who had been on the west wall when it collapsed.

They seemed to view Robert as some kind of hero, like Stonewall Jackson. Robert was the man who knew the wall would break and the man who saved hundreds of lives. The object Corporal Anders found on the wall was odd, possibly important, but Robert could not phantom the mystery and he did not talk of it to the men.

Using a pencil and scrap of paper, Robert started calculating the wood required to survive. Of the one thousand prisoners left alive, three hundred were cutting wood for winter stores and barracks construction. Winter quarters for the men would comprise roofs atop short stone walls, none of the construction requiring special talents. Two hundred men were building the new barracks while the rest of the men spread between harvesting the meager wheat crop, fishing, searching for berries, and burying the occasional floating corpse.

Robert tapped his pencil against the paper. Foolish men, including Lieutenant Pace, wanted to recover stores from the cave, suggesting food was accessible to swimmers. The corpse laden water corrupting the stores even if the flood had not carried the food deep into the cave.

Each morning, a few of the prisoners would be gone, as if three or four men a night would fill one of the small fishing boats. It was suicide to leave the island, but men were leaving despite the risk.

Pace was once again behaving oddly. During the day, he seemed to circle working men like a vulture sensing weakness and appearing from the dark like some loathsome phantom at night. Robert ordered his sergeants to track Pace’s nightly activity, suspecting it might reveal his next target. For now, Pace was simply watching, but Robert was certain that would change.

The temperature was still falling. Each morning it seemed a little colder, and the men burrowed deeper in the thick blue coats provided by the Federal stores. Every morning, fires started that burned late into the night to fight the cold, suggesting they needed as much wood as possible.

“Major,” the voice broke Robert from his reverie. Setting the pencil and paper on his bunk, Robert stood and stretched the cramped muscles in his back that had been sore ever since the flooding of the quarry.

“Yes.” Robert moved to the canvas door. Pulling the flap back, he saw Corporal Anders and Sergeant Burns. Both men looked worried. “The colonel?” Robert spoke immediately.

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“As well as expected, sir,” Sergeant Burns gestured to Anders.

Anders whispered quickly. “We found something you need to see, sir.”

Robert nodded and reached for his coat. It was a gift of the women of Richmond, thick gray cotton that hung to Robert’s calves, the gold filigree on the sleeves and a single star on the collar embroidered with care. Robert no longer cared if the trappings of his rank insulted Lieutenant Pace’s sensibilities.

Robert followed the men into the night, two prisoners holding torches aloft to light the way. They followed the ridge to the south woods, none of the men talking.

They passed the new cemetery placed by General Cornell at the point where the south woods met the field and climbed the ridge. It was a beautiful spot, wooden and stone markers sheltered by overhanging oaks, a slight breeze whispering unintelligibly through the leaves.

The men pushed on and soon they were deep into the southern woods; the shadows cast among the trees by the flickering torches disturbing in the silence. At this moment, Robert was certain of the hatred he felt for this island, of the sense of desolation he felt that was like the pain of battle. More men had died on this speck of land that in many battles, which Robert fought.

The journey continued deeper into the night, finally descending a slope that ended on the shore of the lake. It always leads to the lake, Robert thought bitterly.

Lying forlorn on the rocky shore was a bundle of blue fabric guarded by two Confederate soldiers. Behind them, a wooden boat bumping gently against the rocks, restrained by a rope tied to a tree nearby.

Without speaking, Robert pulled away the cloth covering the corpse’s face. Distorted and gouged by what must have been a horrific death, the face was still recognizable. It was one of Lieutenant Pace’s men.

Squatting next to the body, Robert examined the corpse in the torchlight. Opening the coat, Robert found a hole; a gun barrel had pressed against the soldier’s chest when fired.

“What happened?” Robert closed the coat and stood.

“We found him like this,”

If the men reported the body to the Union guards, Pace would execute them as presumptive murderers. Coming to Sergeant Burns, then Robert, was the only way the men could survive the encounter with the corpse.

“He’s been dead a few days.” Anders noted.

“I saw that. He was in the water a while.” Robert turned to Sergeant Burns. “When was he last seen?”

The Sergeant spat at the corpse. “Since the disaster, sir, he was with Lieutenant Pace on the wall.”

“Powder burns on his hands,” Anders gestured tersely, obviously he and Sergeant Burns had discussed the situation prior to contacting Robert.

“If he was in the water this long, why was he still floating?” Robert thought it odd.

“There were bandages on his hands and his cuts seemed to heal,” Burns noted with pleasure.

Robert looked at the body again, waving the torches closer. Sergeant Burns was correct. There were signs of healing and medical attention after the injuries occurred. There was an odd wound to the leg that was also treated. It looked like a bite mark with teeth that shredded the cotton pants. A fish bite, Robert surmised. There must be enormous fish in this lake.

“You are saying he survived the wall, then shot and thrown into the lake at a later time,” Robert clarified. “I agree, this man was alive after the explosion, but alive where? Why did we not see him or hear the shot that killed him?”

Standing again, Robert brushed his hands off while looking at each of the men. “This stays quiet. No one talks or acts without my approval. Understood?”

The men nodded readily, all of them understanding the implications of the corpse.

“Throw him back in the lake.” Robert looked at the men and their boat. “I am going to pretend you were fishing and not trying to row five miles from here. Get back to camp.”

“Sir,” the men helped roll the body into the lake, then climbed into the boat and rowed slowly away. If they were determined to escape Coal Island, the men would be missing at morning roll call. The lake was gentle now, in a very rare condition.