Morning call was simply a matter of logistics, a means to expedite the work assignment process and avoid wasting precious time. The Union guards took their assignments for granted unless directed to additional work by one of the few sergeants or officers available.
Oddly, it was a social event with men chatting amiably unless Lieutenant Pace was particularly high-strung. Robert used morning call to count heads and reassure the men; trapped men had to believe they would survive.
The rising sun cast long shadows across frost touched ground. Men’s breath fogged slightly in the air and tendrils of mist rose off the lake. Had he not been a prisoner, Robert might have considered the sight beautiful.
With morning call complete, Robert made his way to Beltram’s hut where the fire still burned, tended by Sergeant Burns, who was throwing enough wood on the fire to warm the wall of his officer’s hut. The colonel sat in a rocking chair purchased by Captain Marsch; the chair placed near the hut door; a wool blanket draped over the colonel’s legs.
Beltram’s condition had slowly improved and the sight of the man smiling weakly was a good counter to the dead man pulled from the lake. Squatting nearby, Lieutenant Pace was sharing a joke with a Union soldier, seemingly well rested and cheerful.
Finishing a whispered consultation with Beltram, the General moved to the center of the gathering of sergeants. “Gentlemen,” General Cornell spoke loudly. “We are facing a distasteful project. We dispatched a survey crew to the north woods to search for potential supplies. Late last night, the men returned.” Cornell cast a dour glance at Robert. It suggested the crew returned while Robert was studying a dead man.
“It appears the pond to our north is connected to the cave system. It has flooded over and several bodies have surfaced. We must bury our men. Major Cane will lead our efforts. That is all.” The General’s tone brooked no argument.
Further talk with the General resulted in a gentle rebuke by the old man for Robert’s late-night disappearance, with no request for explanation. No doubt the two senior officers had noticed Sergeant Burns and Corporal Anders had also been missing. His behavior suggested the General trusted Robert had been looking after the welfare of the troops. Soon he would need to tell the General of his suspicions. Robert settled on waiting for the situation stabilized.
Robert watched his men prepare for the trek north. There was a malaise on the island. Men no longer hurried at their tasks. Moral was in the decline, Robert could see it in the faces of the men, a growing listlessness that drew men into an unfocused stare as if men were trying to see something other than this island. More and more of the men were falling to this condition, and there was nothing Robert could do to pull them from the abyss.
Five more men were missing, including the two who found the body last night. Were they gone because of this malaise or were they dead? Had they fled from the island or had they... Robert stopped his train of thought. There was no doubt Lieutenant Pace was a major factor in the mood on Coal Island, yet there was a difference between the man who prowled the shadows at night and the boy who shared jokes at the colonel’s fire. There was no suggestion Pace was killing men, only a corpse pulled from the lake with a pistol wound.
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An hour passed before the burial party walked north. General Cornell joined the march and the column moving quickly. Armies moved on their feet, thus most of Confederate and Union soldiers marched with no problems. Lieutenant Pace and a few of the local boys pressed into the Union guard were the exceptions, many of them quick to tire but continuing gamely on. Unlike in typical army marching, there was no good-natured taunting of the lagging guards. The Rebel’s ignored Lieutenant Pace and his cronies.
At the head of the column, Robert looked over his shoulder at Pace, wondering how long it would be before his troops took the situation in hand and passed judgment on the Lieutenant.
“I believe I agree with you over your assessment of the situation last night.” General Cornell claimed Robert’s attention.
“Sergeant Burns?” Robert smiled.
“I know much of what happens on this island,” General Cornell puffed on his pipe, “but I must confess, there was a coincidence involved.”
“Had I known you were awake, I would have reported, sir.”
“Do not be concerned,” the General waved the apology away. “Years of war have taught us that among our responses to any situation, we can include physical attack. In the absence of war, this is not a normal condition thus, we prisoners must learn to adjust to a more appropriate level of response. Thus, we come to understand the true nature of war.”
Many of the nearby men were listening as the General talked, intrigued by the diminutive man’s thoughts. Thankfully, the listeners were Confederate prisoners. Men tend usually ignore egotistical officers, but General Cornell has earned a fine reputation with the ranks. They listened closely.
“War is our enemy?”
“No.” The General shook his head. “War is a tool. You dig a hole with a shovel. You fell a tree with an axe. We correct social injustice with debate, we fight evil with war.”
“So, the abolitionists were right about the slaves?”
“General Longstreet was correct when he said we should have freed the slaves, then fired on Fort Sumter. The slavery issue, and in this we are indeed wrong, is used repeatedly against the South and will probably be how the North will win this war. Our own evils will overlook the fact we are fighting political evil.”
“Thus cursed, and in that consideration, any violence perpetrated by southern men on this island will be a misuse of war, an inappropriate reaction. We have no proof of the circumstance surrounding the dead man’s end, only the observation of his physical condition after death. This is a weak reason for violence.”
“I understand, sir, however my thoughts were on depredations the men endure in reprisals for a suspected uprising.”
“As you must,” General Cornell nodded. “I must look to the future, as my second it is your duty to be concerned with the present.”
They passed the new cemetery, fresh graves stark in lush grass still green despite the colder weather. A handful of prisoners were placing wooden markers for the graves. Perhaps it was the light falling through the trees or the slow movement of the men in the shadows of the cemetery, but for a moment, the unease Robert felt for the island seemed to concentrate in the cemetery. It was like the evil of this place was proud of what it had done to the living. Many of the marching men were looking at the cemetery, some wondering how long it would be before they came to rest below oak limbs.
“What if we are wrong, sir?” Robert asked softly.
General Cornell looked at Robert, then reached out and patted the younger man’s arm. “In such a case, we are lost. Simple humanity becomes a sign of weakness, inviting our destruction.”
They walked in silence for half a mile, the pasture and small farm plots to the right, men in butternut uniforms harvesting golden grain under a blue sky, an idyllic scene marred by marching boots scuffing the dirt road created by logging crews.
The feeling of the cemetery followed Robert as the men made their way north, a sense of doom pursuing the men like a persistent dog nipping at their heels.