The knowledge Lieutenant Pace would leave only added to Robert’s tension. It was like waiting for a wonderful gift with impatience. A person could only fidget and attempt patience. Robert suspected the other senior officers felt the same way. They all found a place near the shore and awaited Captain Marsch.

The easterly wind caused an approach from the west, the wind catching the Tulip’s sails perfectly. Using a telescope, the officers could see sailors aloft, constantly setting, and reefing sails as Captain Marsch perfected control of his brig.

The weather continued to soften as the brig fought its way to Coal Island. Despite the occasional glimpse of sunlight turning gray water blue, the wind remained heavy and the waves high. Excusing himself from the gathering, Robert walked the shore of the bay, careful to stay out of reach of the waves. At the quay, the tall water ran the length of the stone from lighthouse to shore. Robert had no desire to hear the impending conversation between Colonel Beltram and the missing Lieutenant Pace. He only wished for the confrontation to be over and Pace to be gone. The past few minutes had been more tiring than the long march; this was a war with no bullets and far too many casualties. But the prospect of surviving the winter on Coal Island grew better with Pace gone.

Without notice, Corporal Anders assumed his customary place behind Robert. It was obvious Sergeant Burns had grown to like Colonel Beltram, but Corporal Anders’ protectiveness of Robert was equally strong as the Sergeant’s dedication. Uncertain of the Corporal’s motive, Robert simply tolerated his shadow and instructed Anders to not crowd into his small cabin, it was small enough without adding the permanent presence of the Corporal.

Anders announced his presence with a discrete cough. A few more minutes of walking up the shallow slope brought Robert to the stone road leading to the quay. Walking too close to the waterline was dangerous, with the surging waves leaving the land side of the quay as the only place to watch the mooring of the Tulip from close quarters.

Mooring the ship was problematic with the wave action.

In the distance, the ship bobbed rapidly, then climbed up and over a tall wave.

“Our life line,” Corporal Anders observed.

“What?” Robert broke his reverie.

“The Tulip, Sir.” Anders waved a hand at the ship. “I don’t know what we would do without her.”

“Captain Marsch is a good man,” Robert nodded slowly, a horrific idea blossoming in his mind as he turned to look at the ship. How safe was the Tulip? Full sails bright against the overcast now seemed ominous as Robert truly studied the Tulip’s approach. The ship was bearing hard toward the bay, the cross wind seeming to help, not hinder the Tulip.

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“Where are the sailors?” Robert’s whisper competed with the wind.

“Sir?” Anders held a hand up to shield his eyes and peered at the vessel. “Shouldn’t they be slowing down?”

“Where the hell are they going to dock?” Pieces of the puzzle were coming together rapidly in Robert’s mind. Captain Marsch was too good a sailor to guide his ship this close to a windward shore and he would know there was no protection from the wind and waves on this side of the island.

Men were casually making their way to the quay area, the usual excitement of the Tulip’s arrival hidden in a game of showmanship as each man pretended the arriving supplies and news of were passing importance.

Robert searched the area, looking for a justification of his fear and finding nothing. It was instinct borne of the battlefield, and to wait for a reason to respond was simple foolishness.

“Corporal Anders, have men get ropes then fan out along the shore of the cove, the more the merrier.” Robert walked to the area he suspected the Tulip might come ashore.

Anders hurried among the prisoners, passing the order as quickly as possible.

There was still no sign of Lieutenant Pace. The Colonel and general remained seated near the fire, seeming to wait for the missing officer. Stumbling slightly, Robert caught his balance on the slippery ground and continued until he was on the point of land opposite the lighthouse.

The Tulip was visibly closer to the island, a white bone of foam at her sharp bow. As the brig rose and fell in the waves, Robert could see the figure of a man at the ship’s helm, standing firm on the gyrating deck.

Men were moving to the shoreline with purpose, rapidly complying with Robert’s order, trusting the Confederate officer without question. Within a few minutes, several hundred men had gathered, all of them worried for the small brig that showed no signs of slacking sails or altering course.

Robert still could only see one sign of life, the man standing at the helm, a figure too small to be Captain Marsch. For a moment the clouds parted and sunlight fell upon the Tulip, her sails so bright it seemed an ethereal glow had enveloped the ship.

A great gale of wind swept across the lake, claiming the Tulip from astern, her sails straining taut as the brig seemed to nose down and leap forward. The helmsman’s clothes flashed blue in the sunlight, the mid-blue of a Union coat.

Robert’s breath caught, the sensation of his heart and lungs disappearing to leave a void in his chest. It was a deathly feeling; the helmsman on the Tulip looked familiar. Averting his gaze from the ship, Robert knew the doomed Tulip carried a crew dead. The men gathered on the shore of the cove were not rescuers; they were an audience to a funeral.

The violent wind hit the island, blowing hats from heads, Robert’s coat billowing. The General was on his feet and Colonel Beltram barking orders. They too had seen the danger. One man remained unseen. Robert searched for the Tulip’s helmsman uncertainly, but the blue figure was gone.

The Tulip narrowly missed the rocks of the cove entrance only yards from Robert, her wooden timbers creaking protest to the straining sails. The heavy odor of blood followed the ship, hinting at the plight of the crew.

Men followed the Tulip, running to keep pace with the vessel as she crossed the waters of the small cove. The crush of timber expected a forgone conclusion, starting as small pops and groans, then growing in volume and destruction while rock ground deeper into wood until the Tulip shuddered to a halt.