THE REBEL KILLER

by Paul Fraser Collard

  ‘He’s with the prisoners.’

  ‘What prisoners?’ Jack came to stand directly in front of the man.

  ‘We caught ourselves two Yankee officers, Captain.’

  ‘And where are they?’

  ‘In the back room. One’s hurt pretty bad. The other not so much.’

  ‘And your lieutenant is with them?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll go to him.’ Jack made to move away, but stopped almost immediately. ‘My man is outside with my horse. If you see him, tell him to wait there.’

  ‘Yes, Captain.’

  Jack nodded, then walked towards a door at the back of the parlour. He felt a fluttering of hope. The chances of finding Lyle were growing with every moment.

  He did not stand on ceremony, opening the door and walking straight into the rear room. The smell hit him again the moment the door was open, but stronger this time. It was the smell of mangled flesh and open wounds.

  A man dressed in the blue uniform of the Union sat in a wing-backed armchair. As far as Jack could tell, he was not wounded, but from his glazed expression it was clear the shock of capture had left its mark. The second prisoner had been laid on a dining table. Jack could only assume this man was the one who had been cut out of the saddle by Lyle. He was bleeding heavily from a deep wound across the chest. A woman – Jack had no idea who she was – was trying to staunch the bleeding with what looked to be torn sheets, whilst a fresh-faced young man with the twin gold bars of a lieutenant on his collar, and the yellow facings and golden Austrian knot of a cavalry officer on his sleeves, looked on in obvious horror.

  ‘You. Where’s Lyle?’ Jack fired the question at the officer.

  ‘Who the devil are you?’ The officer scowled as he looked at Jack.

  ‘Sloames, 3rd Virginia Cavalry.’ Jack repeated the lie, then came to stand at the dining table and peered down at the man, whose chest had been laid open to the bone. Mercifully he was unconscious.

  ‘3rd Virginia Cavalry?’ The lieutenant’s face creased into a frown.

  ‘Who are these men, Lieutenant?’ Jack gave him no chance to dwell. He would return to the question of Lyle’s whereabouts, but in the meantime he wanted to keep the man on the back foot.

  ‘Prisoners, sir.’

  ‘You think that one will live?’ Jack looked across to the woman working on the wounded man. She was old, with grey hair bound tight. She glanced up at him for no more than a moment before returning to her gory task.

  ‘I don’t rightly know.’ The lieutenant came to Jack’s side and joined him looking at the man on the table.

  ‘I think he’ll die.’ Jack allowed no pause in the conversation. But he was not dissembling. He had seen enough wounds to know which would kill and which gave a chance of survival.

  ‘You do?’ The lieutenant sounded appalled at the idea.

  ‘I do. What’s your name?’

  ‘Lieutenant Taylorson, sir.’

  ‘How long have you been with Lyle, Taylorson?’ Jack fired off the question.

  ‘A month,’ Taylorson replied.

  Jack nodded. The answer had saved the young officer’s life. Had he been serving with Lyle when Jack had been captured, he would have killed him on the spot.

  ‘I’d like to meet Major Lyle and shake his hand. Is he here?’

  ‘No. He rode on with the rest of the men. Say, are you English, Captain?’

  ‘I am. I came a long way to join our cause.’

  ‘I sure wish a few more of your countrymen felt the same.’

  ‘Me too, Lieutenant.’ Jack shook his head as if rueful at his country’s reluctance to join the war. ‘So what are you doing here?’

  ‘Catching spies.’ Taylorson was young enough to puff his chest out at the bold statement.

  Jack glanced across at the uninjured Union officer. The man seemed happy to play no part in the conversation, but was watching intently.

  ‘That what they are?’

  ‘What else could they be down here?’ The lieutenant looked at Jack quizzically.

  ‘You tell me.’ Jack took a step closer to the table and peered at the bloodied chest of the Union soldier.

  ‘Why, they’re spies for sure. Major Lyle is certain of it. Ever since them Yankees pushed General Crittenden back at Fishing Creek near Mill Springs, there’s been goddam spies all over the place, reconnoitring our lines and trying to get up to Fort Henry and Fort Donelson. We caught sight of these two Yankees and Major Lyle wanted them taken.’

  Jack hid a smile. Martha had said her husband was stationed at Fort Donelson. ‘You were with him when they were captured?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Was it you who cut him down?’ Jack nodded at the bleeding man.

  ‘No, sir, but I was right there with Major Lyle when he defended himself.’

  Jack noted that Taylorson did not have the decency to blush at the claim. Yet he would not tell the lieutenant that he had seen Lyle take the two men on single-handed. He had been an impostor for too long to reveal more than was necessary.

  ‘Where’s the major now?’

  ‘He’s riding for Fort Donelson on the orders of General Forrest himself.’

  The wounded Union officer on the table gave a soft splutter. Blood frothed from his lips and dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘See those bubbles?’ Jack needed to keep Taylorson distracted. He pointed at the blood. ‘That’s air. It means his lungs are gone.’ He looked across at the woman wadding fresh linen into the man’s ruined chest. ‘You’re wasting your time, love.’

  ‘You a physician, sir?’ The reply was sharp and delivered with a scowl.

  Jack had the sense not to press. He turned back to the lieutenant, who was staring at the blood creeping down the Union officer’s cheek. From his grey pallor, it appeared the young officer was just about ready to puke.

  ‘What’s at Fort Henry and Fort Donelson?’ Jack asked the only question he wanted an answer to. He spoke softly, trying not to break the spell that had fallen over Lyle’s lieutenant. ‘I’m not familiar with either.’ He held his breath, waiting to see if Taylorson would bite at his lure.

  ‘Fort Henry protects access to the lower Tennessee river and Fort Donelson does the same for the Cumberland.’ Taylorson swallowed with difficulty. ‘The Yankees will have to capture them both if they want to control the rivers, and if that happens they can split our defensive line right across the north of Tennessee. They’ll be able to push further south and these rivers will be their supply lines.’

  ‘So we need to stop them before they take the forts,’ Jack replied smoothly. He was quietly impressed. The lieutenant was proving to be a useful source of information.

  ‘That we do, sir.’ Taylorson rallied, colour returning to his cheeks. ‘If we hold the forts, we control the rivers. And those forts of ours won’t give in easy.’

  Jack nodded. ‘They won’t, not with men like us to defend them.’ He looked hard at Taylorson, but saw nothing in the younger man’s expression to alarm him. ‘How do I get there?’

  ‘You can ride, but it’s a fair long way. There are paddle steamers ferrying supplies and reinforcements that way. You could try to get a berth on one of those, I guess. It might not be easy.’

  Jack shrugged. He would find a way. The lieutenant was still staring at the blood that flowed steadily out of the Union officer’s mouth.

  ‘You guard these men well, Lieutenant. If I see Lyle, I’ll tell him of your diligence.’

  ‘Thank you kindly, Captain.’

  Jack turned on his heel and left Lyle’s officer and the two Union men to it. He had learned enough. He had missed Lyle this time, but now he knew where the man he sought could be found. It appeared fate was being kind to him in placing Martha’s husband and Lyle at the same spot. It meant he could now kill two birds with one stone. Or at the very least, kill one of them.

  Jack walked a few paces ahead of Martha, who was leading the horse. They had stayed at the farmste
ad for another hour, giving the animal time to be fed and watered. Jack had not spoken to Lyle’s lieutenant again, but he had been there to witness the Union officer’s body being brought out of the farmstead. He felt no satisfaction at having predicted the man’s death. It was a reminder of the fate he himself faced when he found Lyle. The Confederate officer had demonstrated his skill in the fight with the Union officers. It had been no small thing for him to take on both men and win. Jack had learned much that day, not least that his foe was a dangerous man.

  ‘You daydreaming there, Jack?’ Martha broke the silence.

  Jack sighed. He might have guessed she would want to talk. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What you thinking?’

  ‘That I like peace and quiet.’ He turned to fire a warning look in her direction.

  ‘You sure do.’ Martha did not meet his gaze, but instead looked at the ground.

  They walked on. They had covered a good half-mile before she tried again.

  ‘You see them Yankees?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Then you saw that our boys were doing their best for them. Especially the one that got hurt.’

  ‘They were.’ Jack knew he would not be left alone until Martha had said what she wanted to say. ‘What of it?’

  ‘You don’t think it’s kind of queer?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sure about that? You said these men killed your Rose without a thought, and shot you down too.’ Martha paused, as if summoning the courage to continue. ‘I ain’t doubting you or nothing, but if they’re such devils and all, why did they take those two Yankees to that there farm? Why didn’t they just kill them out of hand?’

  Jack didn’t care for the question. ‘How the hell should I know?’

  ‘It’s just . . .’ She didn’t finish the thought.

  ‘Spit it out.’ Jack wanted the conversation done.

  ‘Well, don’t you think they might not be the devils you think they are? They sure didn’t look like monsters to me, Jack. They just looked kinda ordinary. And they did the charitable thing looking after those Yankees.’

  ‘It doesn’t change a thing.’ There was iron in Jack’s reply. He remembered the wood where he had been taken, and where he had had his last glimpse of Rose. There had been no mercy that day. There had been just pain and blood and death. ‘Now you save your breath for walking. I reckon you’ll need it. We’ve a long way to go.’

  He shut down the conversation. Yet as he walked, he could not help thinking on what Martha had said. He refused to acknowledge the truth in her words. He knew nothing was clear-cut. To his way of thinking, men were made up of a mixture of traits. Good and bad. Honest and deceitful. Love and hate. No one was just one thing or the other.

  The same would likely be true of both Lyle and his men. But he had spoken the truth to Martha. It didn’t change a thing. For if it did, it would mean he would have to change his path, and he could not face that. He would find Lyle, and he knew he would kill him. If he turned from that path, the one that he had walked for all these months, he did not know where he would go or what he would do.

  Revenge was all he had, he knew that, just as he knew the darkness in his own soul. He did not live in a world of colour, but in one where there were just shades of grey. Those greys were getting steadily darker and he knew that one day they would turn black.

  And then darkness would rule his soul.

  Jack studied the paddle steamer tied up against the dock. It was called the Rowena, the name picked out in proud red paint on the side of the wheelhouse that was perched all alone on the very upper deck. The steamer was made from wood painted white. It was propelled by a great stern-mounted paddle wheel powered by a steam engine. Two tall smoke stacks belched thick plumes of grey-black smoke into the late-evening sky, where they were quickly lost amongst the dark clouds that hung low over the river.

  He was no great lover of boats, or ships, or whatever the crew insisted the paddle steamer was called. He had spent much of his life on long voyages, first to the Crimea and then back to London from India. Still more time had been wasted on the Atlantic crossing from Liverpool to Boston. Most of these periods of enforced incarceration had been spent either bored out of his mind or puking up his guts. He was not looking forward to the next few days.

  They had been forced to sell Martha’s horse. The animal was exhausted and there was no way of getting it aboard the small paddle steamer. It had fetched a good price, the demand for horses high as the Confederate army bought up every one in the area. He was not sorry to see it go. Life would be simpler and cheaper without animals to care for.

  It would also be simpler now they were so close to their destination. The Rowena would take them up the Cumberland river to a town called Dover and the nearby Fort Donelson. There they would hopefully find Martha’s husband, and if Taylorson had been telling the truth, they would also discover Lyle and his raiders.

  ‘This way, sir.’ The young crewman assigned to the Rowena’s passengers turned to look anxiously back at Jack, who had hesitated to step onto the wooden pontoon dock that led out to the steamer.

  Jack nodded, then took a deep breath before following the lad. The Rowena was carrying a dozen officers and twice as many other ranks, along with a large amount of supplies. Jack had been fortunate to secure the berth for the two of them, although his willingness to spend his stolen money had certainly encouraged the army clerk who issued passes for travel by river to find a way to accommodate them. He had only been able to get them a single cabin, though, something he had not yet told Martha. She would find out soon enough.

  The two of them were the last to go aboard, and he could sense the crewman was in a hurry to get them installed in their cabin. He led them at a fine pace, his body reacting without thought to the shifts in the dock beneath them. Jack followed more circumspectly, with Martha trailing behind him. At the rear of the short procession, a second crewman carried their baggage, such as it was, the stained and battered saddlebags balanced easily in his arms. Jack’s failed pursuit of Lyle had cost them more than the life of his horse. He had managed to break or mangle most of their cooking equipment, and he knew that at some point he would have to find them more if they were to continue on their journey.

  It did not take them long to cross the pontoon and then the simple wooden gangplank that led on board the paddle steamer.

  ‘Your cabin is on the Texas deck, sir.’ The young crewman turned and made his farewell brusquely. ‘Able there will show you the way.’

  Jack nodded his thanks, then stood back to let the man carrying the saddlebags take the lead. The steamer was already crowded. The deck they were on was smothered with soldiers’ kit, and he could see that the troops being shipped upriver had already started to make themselves comfortable on the lower deck. The passenger cabins were on the next level up, so he followed their baggage up a wide and surprisingly elegant stairway. The crew clearly took pride in their ship’s appearance. The brasswork gleamed, the decks were clean, and the wood was well polished and for the most part in good condition.

  The crewman carrying the bags opened a door midway along the length of the upper deck and plunged inside, leaving Jack and Martha to follow him. The cabin was dark and smelt of an unpleasant mix of damp, wax and sweat. It boasted a single narrow bed, covered in a heavy counterpane of dark reds and blues. There was a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed and a dressing table pushed into one corner.

  The crewman laid the saddlebags down on the lower part of the bed with exaggerated care, then nodded a farewell and left without another word. Jack went straight to the far side of the room, where he opened the first of two small square windows.

  ‘You expect us to share that there bed?’ Martha crossed the cabin and began to undo the buckles on their saddlebags.

  ‘It was all I could get.’ Jack glanced over his shoulder. His companion did not seem overly upset, which was a good thing. He had not been sure how she would react.

  Martha pulled out
a bundle of clothes from the uppermost saddlebag. She had dumped her own clothes back at the hotel. Now all she had were some of the things she had lent Jack from her husband’s wardrobe, and the uniform Jack had taken from the lad he had beaten. She shook out a shirt. ‘And where are you expecting to sleep tonight?’

  ‘I’ll kip on the floor.’ Jack was struggling with the second window. The catch was rusted shut.

  ‘Uh huh.’ Martha’s tone had changed.

  ‘What does that mean? Oh fuck it.’ Jack swore as he tore a fingernail on the catch.

  ‘Nothing.’ Martha folded the shirt, then pulled out her one spare pair of oversized trousers.

  ‘I know you by now, love.’ Jack turned, his finger in his mouth. ‘You don’t approve?’

  ‘I’m a married woman. It ain’t right that you and me are sharing a room.’

  ‘We don’t have a choice. I can hardly doss down with the blokes downstairs; I’m an officer after all. You’ll just have to grin and bear it.’

  ‘Will I now?’

  ‘Yes. Look, I’m not going to jump on you or anything.’ Jack gave what he hoped was a reassuring grin – enough, he hoped, to hide the fact that he had thought about exactly that the moment he had seen the single bed. He was most certainly no saint. The thought of being with Martha had crossed his mind.

  Martha looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. ‘I stink. I want to change out of these clothes. So you can just turn around and give me a bit of privacy.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Jack could feel her awkwardness. They had travelled together for weeks, yet something had changed now they were in the cramped cabin. The small space was too intimate for comfort.

  He did as he was told and turned his attention back to the reluctant catch on the second window. He heard the rustle of clothing behind him as Martha undressed. He had no intention of trying to steal a look, but he could not help seeing her reflection in the glass. There was something in her work-hardened body that was most certainly attractive. He stood taking in the image for longer than he knew he should, only stopping when she dropped the shirt over her head.