The sudden stop was too much for the ship’s foremast, wood splitting and sails billowing as the mast toppled to the earth of the island like a felled tree. Men scattered to avoid the destruction while others ran to the small ship to climb aboard the wreck. For the moment, the Tulip sat too high out of the water to reach the deck rails.

Robert saw a rope thrown near the bow of the Tulip snagging the firmly mounted anchor. He quickly pushed his way through the crowd to the access point. He recognized two of the men holding the rope while a third was climbing. Robert grasped the thick rope and climbed.

A quick glance along the hull of the stranded ship revealed several men duplicating the rope climb, looping ropes on any projection revealing itself. More wood cracked as an upper yard ripped free of the slip, whipped down from the remaining mast and careening off the Tulip on its way down.

Storm wind was increasing, the roar of waves breaking on the shore getting louder, the men buffeted violently. The man climbing above Robert disappeared over the railing as Robert reached for the fluke of the iron anchor tied to the Tulip’s side. The pitted metal was cold to the touch as Robert released his grip on the slippery rope and stretched for the railing. A muffled shout from above drove Robert to leap up the Tulip’s side despite the risk. He scrabbled over the railing and collapsed to the deck, winded by the exertion, his eyes closed as he grasped for breath.

Sitting up, Robert surveyed the main deck. The smell of blood was heavy in the air despite the wind.

Men had died. Blood, running in the rain, trailed across the tilted decks. Pieces of bodies lay strewn across the ship, most unrecognizable, as if rent from the men with the force of an explosion.

Climbing to his feet, Robert searched for the man who had shouted and found there was no living person in sight. He walked slowly aft, avoiding the tangled ropes hanging from above and sailcloth draping the deck. As more men topped the ship’s rail, Robert only had eyes for the ship’s helm.

Blood had sprayed across a collapsed sail in Robert’s path, the mangled body of a Confederate prisoner close by. Somehow, the prisoner died in the few seconds he was out of sight. Robert stepped carefully past the body, only marginally distracted. He needed to know what had happened. Robert needed to know who stood at the helm.

A small group of prisoners made their way aft in Robert’s wake.

“Stay where you are,” Robert neared the stern of the Tulip, the soldiers obediently stopping, sensing danger as they surveyed the deck of the Tulip.

The Tulip’s helm was a ship’s wheel on the aft wall of a companionway holding a hatch that led belowdecks. The hatch hung loose, swinging slightly to the wind as Robert passed the opening while monitoring the hatch.

At least one man had died here. Blood and tissue had splattered everywhere. Captain Marsch’s head lay several feet away in the scuppers, his beard recognizable despite the damage to his face.

The man in the blue uniform was nowhere to be seen.

The Tulip groaned and canted slightly to the port side, all the men fighting to keep their balance.

“Clear the hatches. Open the cargo holds.” Robert waved the men into action. He moved to the side of the wreck and called ashore. “We need more men. Get ready to receive supplies.”

Within seconds, the wreck of the Tulip became alive with activity.

Axes were used to cut the ropes securing the hatches, then the plank covers removed and lowered over the side where waiting hands walked the bounty out of reach of the waves.

More men, including Union guards, climbed over the ship’s rail, and crowded around the hatches. Men peered down into the dark voids, then looked up with grim faces.

“Let me thru,” the men shuffling out of Robert’s way. Looking down into the hold, Robert could see two lanterns burning, their light revealing the remains of the crew spread piecemeal over the closely stacked supplies.

“Ignore the sacks of grain. Haul out the crates or break them down and send out the contents.” He glanced at the men, none of them eager to climb into the cargo hold. “Hurry; we don’t know how long this wreck will hang here.”

The men set to action, several climbing into the hold. At the fore hatch, men were already pulling sacks and crates from storage. The Tulip lurched again, all the men pausing for a moment, then returning to work at a feverish pace.

Robert pushed his way to a Union corporal standing near the side of the ship, looking at the bloody deck with trepidation. “I need your revolver, Corporal.”

The Corporal looked at Robert in dismay, his hand covering the holster at his side.

“Unless you wish to go below decks.” Robert pointed at the companionway hatch.

“I want it back Sir,” the Corporal upholstered the pistol and handed it to Robert.

“Of course.” The thought of chasing something below decks was daunting. The Tulip rolled further port as he walked to the hatch, the wooden hull cracking sharply. This time the salvage work did not stop as men hurriedly broke crates open and passed the goods out of the holds.

Pistol at the ready, Robert opened the small hatch then stepped onto a short ladder to the between decks. This was the gallery area where the crew ate and socialized. Captain Marsch and ship’s officers had small cabins in the aft end of the deck cramped under the stern.

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The ship rolled more while Robert descended the ladder; the pistol held in front of him. They had to be running out of time, only a matter of minutes before the Tulip finished the roll onto her side. At that point, anyone left aboard the ship would not survive. Once the stern of the ship filled with water, it would drag the rest of the Tulip back into the lake where she would sink.

The gallery was with broken furniture, crockery, and sailors. Several men had died violently in this small room, thrown with such force that crushed wooden furniture. The debris was sliding to the downhill side of the room, leaving only an unrecognizable flow of shattered wood and limbs.

Nothing moved against the slow slide to port. The lanterns hanging from pegs casting weak light surrendered to gravity and hung to the tilt of the ship.

Using the overhead deck beams for support, Robert crossed the room and entered the small companionway containing the doors to the officer’s private quarters. He paced slowly, one hand to the beams, and the pistol held steadily ahead as breaking wood continued to echo inside the ship.

An open door to the left led to the kitchen, the cook lying in the corner covered by hot coals from the oven. Other than burns, there was no obvious cause of death.

It was the last cabin Robert sought, Captain Marsch’s cabin. There would be weapons, powder, and ammunition in the cabin. Not enough to protect his men, but enough to kill Lieutenant Pace.

No bodies lay in the next two rooms, only clothes and sheets hung from the gimbaled beds or scattered on deck.

The Tulip rolled again, this time slowly shifting and refusing to stop as the hull screamed in protest until the ship canted close to forty degrees. It was time to get off the brig and reach the safety of land. Muffled shouts came from above, yet Robert fought on, his goal only a few feet away with a weak light coming out of the hanging door.

Robert pushed the door open and up with the pistol, then wedged into the doorway, ready to fire at any sign of danger.

It was a simple cabin in disarray, a place that contained what remained of a good man; a few clothes, books, and the implements required to pilot the ship. Most of the room was dark, shadows created by a lantern hanging over the small worktable covered with charts of Lake Superior.

Robert stopped, the gun pivoting to a shadowed corner of the room.

Someone stood in the corner. Slowly the man turned, the uniform of a Union officer vague but discernable; a white shirt covered by a blue waistcoat and jacket with a black tie worn at the neck.

“Don’t move,” Robert warned, raising the pistol to aim at the officer.

The figure leaned forward, its face emerging from the shadows with an impertinent grin.

It was Pace.

Robert shifted the gun sight to Pace’s face, the youth replaced by a deep sense of evil, a malicious anger.

“Stay where you are.”

The man tilted his head up as if listening to the shifting ship, then sniffed the air deliberately.

“Stop that,” Robert regained his iron resolve and spoke the demand firmly.

Lieutenant Pace smiled in return and Robert almost dropped the pistol, his hand and arm shaking in a sudden surge of fear. Instantly, Robert backed away from the creature, knowing he had never been pursuing a human being.

The smile revealed narrow, uneven, pointed teeth; too many teeth for a man.

The Tulip lurched, rolling violently to port, passing the point of recovery with a sickening emptiness in Robert’s stomach. Revolver firing deafeningly in the confined space as Robert fell backward out the door. The creature reacted to the shot by lurching backward, then Robert was falling away from the room; the door slamming shut. Glass broke and smoke grew rapidly.

As quickly as possible, Robert crawled the short passageway now lying on its side. The fire was in the crew’s mess, light growing as the fire spread. The ship was still rolling, slowly now, but the noise was returning to a noticeable volume as his hearing returned.

Gritting his teeth, Robert hopped past the kitchen door and hurried on, wary of any sound of pursuit.

Acrid smoke hung in the air, tainted with the smell of burning flesh. Robert dropped on a pile of wood that was not burning and worked his way through the wreckage, nearby flames singeing his coat and hot on the exposed flesh of his hands and face.

His goal was close, daylight coming through the open hatch at the top of the ladder. He could hear hundreds of voices shouting desperately. Robert pulled himself up to the short passageway amid a new sensation; it was if the Tulip was swinging in the air with incredible speed.

Behind Robert, the door to Captain Marsch’s burst open violently, the captain’s cabin filled with flames, shards of wood flying, some pelting Robert.

The creature was an unrecognizable form twisting in the flames.

Robert lunged for the hatch, pushing his way up the wall, the Tulip almost completely on her side. The hatch door was swinging on its hinges, air forced out of the Tulip buffeting the door as the ship sank. Pushing the door open, Robert could feel the flow of the wind and the heat of the fire approaching.

Water lay close to the port rail, the wood dipping into the water only a few feet towards the bow; it was enough to keep Robert from falling into the water. Robert dropped to the rail, the hatch slamming shut above him, trapping the flames.

Only the lighthouse and breakwater were in sight, confusing Robert. Somehow the brig had spun until the shattered bow lay in the lake, sinking steadily as water cascaded into the cargo holds. Sails and rigging hung from the ship, fouling the water and making it impossible for Robert to jump clear of the wreck. The only choice was to climb up to the starboard hull and hope he could jump to the island.

Voices were loud, screaming his name while Robert quickly climbed the wreckage and passed the closed hatch with wisps of smoke curling out gaps in the wood.

At the starboard rail, Robert swung himself up with a grip on the mainmast ratlines, briefly remembering this was the location from which he first sighted Coal Island. Standing upright on the hull of the capsized brig, Robert saw where the ship had moved and the salvation that lay at hand.

A fishing boat had rowed close to the heel of the Tulip where it dipped below the surface of the lake, the occupant calling out as a cheer roared from shore.

With deliberate dignity, Robert strode down the ship’s hull, then calmly stepped into the boat.

“What the hell were you doing, Major?” Corporal Anders cussed angrily while using an oar to push the skiff away from the sinking ship. “Taking a damn tour?”

Robert could not help but grin at the Corporal. “Miss me?”

“Aw Christ, I should just call you Stonewall,” Anders started rowing away from the slowly sinking wreck.

Looking toward shore and the cheering men, Robert’s smile faded. Standing in the crowd, Lieutenant Pace stood motionless, watching the drama.

What Robert had seen on the Tulip, and worse, was that really Pace?

There was no understanding what had happened and what had destroyed the Tulip.

The smile faded from Robert’s face.