“I am told you hail from this area, Private.” Robert gestured to an open spot on a log lying near the fire. Private Holm sat hesitantly.
With a slight stutter, the Private replied. “Superior, sir,”
“Do you know any myths from this area?”
“Just some Indian stories,” Holm warmed his hands on the fire, “Sir,” with a glance at Colonel Beltram.
“What about the Robber King?” General Cornell leaned close.
“That’s not a myth, sir. The Robber King happened forty years ago after the Mississippi ran backwards.”
“What was that?” General Cornell’s brow furrowed.
“About fifty years ago,” Robert waved his coffee cup. It was a piece of Georgia’s history. “There was an earthquake, and the Mississippi did indeed flow north for two days.”
“The river ate a town too,” a helpful observer chirped.
“The river changed course and flooded the town of Bentonville.” Robert clarified. “As you know it, what is the Robber King story?”
“He was a killer,” the Private Holm accepted a coffee. “At first, he only stole odd items from farms in this area. That’s how he got the name. Most people tolerated the King, some feeling he might be a man down on his luck. Other people thought the Sioux Indians were stealing, but the tribes moved out of the area shortly after the robberies began.”
“Why?” Colonel Beltram watched the general.
“My grandfather said the Sioux were afraid of the Robber King and they refused to help track the King. They just packed up and moved west.”
“Don’t sound like any Sioux, I know,” another helpful voice responded to a chorus of agreement.
“Gentlemen,” Robert loudly interrupted, and held a finger up to his lips. “If we may continue, what did he steal?”
“Food at first, then harness, tackle, and odd effects. Things you wouldn’t think were valuable.” Holm lit a corncob pipe. “Then children went missing, one every week. Families were screaming for help hunting the King down. They formed possies, but no one could catch the Robber King and most people never even saw him.”
Robert looked doubtful. “I’ve never heard of anything like this.”
“We don’t talk with outsiders, sir.”
Something was wrong with the answer, a nagging doubt that bothered Robert.
“How many people died?” The story clearly enthralled general Cornell.
“Over twenty. Grandfather was never certain of the number. Like he said, you never knew who lit out to get away, who were passing through and met a terrible end.”
“But he was certain of twenty,” General Cornell toed the ground. “How did they die?”
“Ripped to pieces. Grandfather said they found huge bloody stains, with something unrecognizable as a person spread within it. He said he found more bodies than he cared to remember.”
“Your grandfather was involved with this event?” Colonel Beltram deduced.
“He was the local sheriff?”
“Granddad led the last posse.”
Robert shook his head. “He led the men who followed the Robber King to a cave.”
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“Yes Sir.” Holm puffed on his pipe while he seemed to debate how much of the past he was going to reveal. “There were twenty-five men in the posse, most armed with pistols and muskets. They found the King right after it killed a man. The King ran so fast grandfather said all he saw was a shadow flit across a field into nearby woods.”
“They followed the tracks for two days, distinct tracks, through the woods on the south shore of this lake. The King stayed out of sight until they came upon a cave. The prints led into the cave.”
“Just like the story.” General Cornell observed needlessly.
“Not all of them. A few men, relatives of the victims, followed the King, but most of the posse stayed at the mouth of the cave. Grandfather sent a few of the men to Superior for reinforcements and explosives.”
“The cave was a perfect trap.” Robert remembered his misgivings when first seeing the cave on Coal Island.
“So, it seemed to grandfather, but it’s never wise to follow a bear into a cave. The men who went after the King agreed to fire a shot every few hours. The noise would let the men guarding the mouth of the cave know the searchers were still alive. So, it went for two days, the shots getting more and more distant as the search drove further into the cave. Until they could hear no shots.”
“Men occasionally thought they heard distant shouts from the cave, but grandfather knew better. He had a log barrier placed at the mouth of the cave with a fire constantly burning while men watched the cave in teams. He was waiting for the black powder and grandfather was determined to prevent the Robber King’s escape.”
The young soldier a well of information. All the men quietly transfixed by the spoken tale.
“Five days after the searchers entered the cave, guards heard the first screams. They could hear their friends dragged from the depths one by one and killed just out of the firelight. The King made the trap seem one devised for the posse.”
“It took two more days for the black powder to arrive; two days of listening to their friends die. But the powder arrived and grandfather sealed the cave trapping the Robber King. The attacks stopped.”
Holm paused and gave a forced smile. “We all wait for the day the Robber King breaks free. If you go to the cave, you can hear rocks being moved. I’ve heard it many times.”
Robert finally understood what troubled him and spoke into the silence of men, hoping the story was a hoax. “Why are you telling outsiders this story?”
“The cave led to Coal Island.”
“There is no way you could know that,” someone protested.
“We all knew about the cave for years. The Sioux Indians used it to get to the island during the winter. They danced to Gitchigumi here.”
“Where is the cave entrance?”
Holm stood and pointed south. “About six miles that way,” he pointed at the southern shore of Lake Superior. “I’m telling you this story because this is the Robber King’s island and I reckon he is still alive.”
“That’s impossible.” General Cornell protested angrily, standing to face the tall blond soldier, the General’s love of the story to provoke humor now seeming a crude farce. There were limits to what a man could accept. “What makes you say such a thing?”
“A lot of men have died with more missing every morning, sir,” the Private said solemnly. “We are in its home.”
“Enough,” Cornell waved Holm away. “Time to leave Private. I thank you for the diversion, but you will not repeat this story. You are free to leave.”
“Yes Sir,” Holm nodded to the officers then walked away from the fire and disappeared into the crowd.
The General returned to his seat, a silence returning to the gathering as men tried to determine what they believed.
For his part, Robert knew the damage was already done. The Private’s story would work its way among the men of the island in a few hours. If they were all on edge, it was possible nothing more would happen and they would easily survive the coming winter.
Yet, the sense of wrong on Coal Island now had an identity.
The crowd dispersed slowly until General Cornell, Colonel Beltram, and the impassive Sergeant Burns remained.
“How many men have disappeared?” Robert wondered aloud. “Twenty? Thirty? Where are they?”
“How can we know... wait!” The General stopped his anger, removed his hat, and pushed his hair back before he spoke again. “Obviously an officer knows what becomes of his men, but to suggest this other explanation strains belief. Yes, we have seen too much death, yet is this any different from the battlefield? There is no place for superstition in our bid to survive the winter, and any such story will only induce fear. Men make poor decisions when using fear as a foundation.”
“We must lead, not cower.” Colonel Beltram added.
“My question is this, sir,” Robert thought aloud. “If they are all escaping this island by boat, how many boats do we have?”
“I had thirty boats built.” Colonel Beltram stopped, understanding coming to the officer as his jaw set.
“How many boats remain?” General Cornell demanded firmly.
“Twenty-five, sir,” Sergeant Burns brusquely recited the total.
“Good night, sir.” Robert stood and gave a polite bow to the senior officers, then walked away from the fire, General Cornell’s anger clear as he spoke to the colonel.
Robert ignored the exchange, his thoughts elsewhere.
Fifty men had supposedly escaped the island by boat, yet only five boats were missing. Ten soldiers to a boat designed to hold two men. The math did not work.
Perhaps Private Holm was correct.