Rebel Train: A Civil War Novel

by David Healey

  "Tighten it up," Lowell ordered. "Fast march. We'll move ahead another couple miles, and if we don't find anything, we'll turn around."

  Greer didn't look back. He had been holding his breath, unsure of what the soldiers would do. For now, they would keep on going. Greer kept his eyes on the beacon of smoke ahead and kept moving.

  • • •

  Just a few miles away, the Rebel raiders also had their eyes on the horizon ahead.

  "It's another train," Percy said, studying the smoke. "Eastbound. We had best get going before she gets here."

  Flynn nodded and took the still-unconscious Lieutenant Cater by the shoulders. "Easy," he said. "The last thing we want to do is have this wound start bleeding again."

  Still unconscious, Cater groaned as they loaded him onto the makeshift stretcher.

  "He looks bad, Colonel," Pettibone said.

  Percy didn't say anything.

  "He might come around," Flynn said, adding another strip of cloth to the blood-stained bandage. He had doctored his share of ugly wounds on the battlefield and in the back alleys of Baltimore and Richmond, and he was always amazed by how hard people were to kill. "I've seen worse, and he's a strong lad."

  Colonel Percy nodded. There was a sadness about the sharp blue eyes. Already, he had lost so many good boys from back home in the war. Silas Cater was the first of his men to be wounded during this impossible mission. Percy knew they would be very lucky if the lieutenant turned out to be the only casualty.

  "Carry him forward," Percy said. "Put him on the second passenger train. It's that much closer. Cook, you stay here to guard Lincoln's car until I send Hudson and Pettibone back to relieve you."

  The truth was that the colonel just didn't trust John Cook. The man might have been a decent soldier, but he had also been a small-time livestock thief back home. With Cater wounded, Percy wasn't about to leave him alone. Hudson and Pettibone were far more trustworthy and capable.

  With a man at each corner of the stretcher, they started forward. They moved quickly, taking care not to jostle the injured officer. Each of them kept glancing toward the smoke of the approaching train. The B&O line was double-tracked, meaning one set of rails carried trains west, the other set east, so there was no danger of a head-on collision between trains headed in opposite directions.

  The oncoming train could mean one of two things, none of them good. It was possible news of the raid had somehow been telegraphed ahead, after all, and this approaching train might be loaded with soldiers, sent to head them off. In which case they would have a fight on their hands. The second possibility was simply that this was just an eastbound train bound for Baltimore. However, if the Chesapeake didn't get underway before the oncoming train came into sight, it would stop to see what was wrong, and there would be trouble. Even if it didn't stop, the train had spotted them and would be carrying news toward whatever pursuers trailed behind.

  "Come on, boys," Percy urged them. "Hurry it up."

  As they carried the stretcher aboard the passenger car, Henrietta Parker let out a gasp at the sight of the wounded lieutenant swaddled in bloody bandages.

  "A wounded Rebel!" She sounded pleased.

  Captain Fletcher stood, mouth wide open, and stared at Cater. He was the only one of the raiders who had never been in combat. His face was pale.

  "Is he— "

  "Clear a space, Captain!" Percy barked at him. "Clear a space!"

  Only young Johnny Benjamin had the sense to keep an eye on the passengers, one hand resting on the handle of his holstered Colt.

  They lifted Silas Cater off the stretcher and laid him on the floor between the rows of seats. Percy walked to the head of the car, turned, and faced the passengers. It was clear that the colonel was about to make a statement of some kind, and they waited expectantly.

  "Contrary to what some of you may think, we are not barbarians."

  Mrs. Parker made an indignant noise, which Percy quickly silenced with a glance from his steely eyes.

  "We are not in the business of taking hostages," he continued. "You have been kept on this train for military purposes, not criminal ones. Those who have died did so in armed opposition to us, and suffered the consequences. Thus are the rules of war." Percy paused, his eyes lingering for a moment on the unconscious Lieutenant Cater. "However, you will be relieved to know the time has come for us to part company. Please gather your belongings and Sergeant Flynn will escort you from the train."

  There was a murmur of relief from the passengers, who were more than happy to escape the train and the bloody business of the Rebel raid. Three passengers had already been killed: the two overly heroic Yankee soldiers and Charles Gilmore. The rest were glad to get off alive. At least, most of them would be, Flynn decided, thinking of Nellie's lost opportunity for a fortune in Yankee greenbacks.

  Mrs. Parker spoke up, sounding alarmed. "You're putting us off here? In this wilderness? In the middle of nowhere? There's not a house, not so much as a farm— "

  "That's precisely the idea, ma'am," Percy said, touching the brim of his hat in a gallant gesture.

  Nellie Jones stood up. "Colonel, with your permission, I'd like to stay and care for the wounded lieutenant."

  Percy appeared surprised. "That's more kindness than we could accept, ma'am."

  "Please let me stay, Colonel," Nellie insisted. "Not every passenger on this train is a damn Yankee, you know."

  At the remark, Mrs. Parker's eyes bugged out of her fleshy face.

  Flynn suppressed a smile. He had to admire Nellie's gumption. He alone knew, of course, that her motivation came from the payroll money still undiscovered in the baggage car rather than any Rebel sympathies. The question was, would the colonel allow her to stay? If he did, Flynn knew he and the woman might just leave the train very rich indeed when the time came.

  "All right, ma'am," Percy agreed. "Ordinarily I would say no, but under the circumstances we need all the help we can get." He turned to Flynn. "Sergeant, give her all the help she needs."

  "Yes, sir."

  Percy left and headed for the next car to make a similar speech to the passengers there.

  "Well, I never," Mrs. Parker said. She scowled at Nellie. "A Rebel sympathizer in our very midst. My dear, I know you're young ... don't you realize what these soldiers will do to you once they get you alone? They can't be trusted."

  Her husband interrupted. "Henrietta— "

  Flynn was thinking Nellie probably knew more about soldiers—and men in general—than the matronly Mrs. Parker could ever guess.

  "Get off the train, ma'am," he said.

  But Mrs. Parker wasn't through with Nellie. "You'll get what you deserve if you stay with these Rebels," she said. "Why, they're vermin! Thieves! Calling themselves soldiers— "

  Her husband reached for her arm. "Henrietta."

  He managed to get her out to the landing, but she paused on the steps. "They'll be hanged when they're caught. Every last one of them! Strung up by their necks— "

  Flynn had heard enough. He drew back his leg, put the heel of his boot in the small of Mrs. Parker's fat back, and shoved. She shrieked and landed in a heap of billowing hoop skirt and indignation. She lay on the ground, whimpering, "Oh, oh, oh— "

  "Shut up, woman." He tossed the Parkers's valise after them. It hit the ground and burst open, scattering shirts and underclothes.

  "Was that really necessary?" demanded a voice at his elbow. Flynn turned to face the fat lawyer, Prescott. Flynn put a hand on the huge Le Mat revolver on his hip and smiled wickedly. "How fast can you move, Mr. Prescott?"

  Prescott's eyes widened with fear. He dropped his own valise and half-jumped, half-fell down the iron steps to the ground.

  Flynn laughed. "You're all a bunch of cowardly Yankees." He picked up Prescott's valise and hurled it at him. Prescott gave a startled cry and weakly threw up his hands, but it wasn't enough to stop the force of the valise, which struck him in the chest and knocked him down.

  "Sure, and w
as that really necessary, Mr. Prescott?" Flynn laughed, then turned to shout at the remaining passengers. "Get off! Get the hell off this train. I'll shoot the next one of you yellow Yankees who so much as says a word."

  Thinking the sergeant had gone mad, the passengers stumbled over each other in their hurry to get down the steps to the safety of the ground. Mrs. Parker had regained her feet, and stood with hands on her hips, huffing, as her henpecked husband scurried to pick up their scattered clothes.

  Captain Fletcher had witnessed all the commotion, and he stepped in front of Flynn and said in a low voice, "There's no need to torment the passengers, Flynn. They're civilians. Marylanders, too, just like me."

  "Then you'd best get them off the train, Captain. Because I meant what I said about shooting the next one that squawked."

  "I am your superior officer," Fletcher reminded him.

  "Fletcher, what you are is Colonel Norris's boot-wipe. Now get the hell out of my way."

  Fletcher hesitated a moment, taking the measure of Flynn's hard face, then did as he was told. He stared after Flynn with hateful eyes, and determined that it was the last time Flynn—or anyone else—would disrespect him.

  Hazlett, who had come out the door of his own car to get the passengers there off, had witnessed the confrontation.

  "That Paddy should show you some respect, sir," Hazlett said, once Flynn was out of earshot.

  "Yes." Fletcher was too angry at Flynn, and at himself for not standing up to Flynn, to say more.

  "I can see, Captain, that Flynn don't understand how a man in your position deserves better."

  "Thank you, Sergeant." Fletcher was secretly pleased, even if Hazlett's presence unsettled him. "Now get the passengers off your car."

  "Yes, sir."

  Fletcher watched him set to work. Hazlett might be a crude man, he decided, but at least he understood how to respect his betters.

  His wounded pride soothed, Fletcher watched the last of the passengers get off the train. At least that one woman was staying, he thought. She was quite attractive and had a saucy look to her. Briefly, Fletcher thought how nice it would be to be left alone with her for a few minutes. With a woman like that, it was all the time he would need.

  Chapter 22

  Flynn stalked back inside the car, empty now except for Johnny Benjamin, Nellie and the wounded lieutenant. Nellie had found a rag and a bottle of water, and she was busy cleaning the caked and crusted blood from Silas Cater's face. Flynn crouched beside her. Cater's breathing was shallow and the taut skin stretched over his features was pale.

  "How is he?" he asked.

  "Hard to say. If he doesn't come around soon, I don't give him much of a chance. The bullet might have done more damage than we can see. His skull could be cracked."

  "Too bad. He's a good lad." Flynn made sure the others were too far away to hear, then lowered his voice. "You’re a clever one, Nellie. That was quick-thinking on your part, offering to stay and help the wounded because you’re a Rebel at heart. You were so convincing that I almost believed you myself. Not willing to give up that money, were you?"

  "No," she said. "I hope you didn't think you were going to get it all to yourself."

  "There's plenty enough to go around, lass. More money than one person can carry, at least. We need a plan."

  Nellie nodded. "Just outside Cumberland, I have some friends who will help. They're not expecting a train filled with Confederates, of course.”

  Flynn raised his eyebrows. "Friends?"

  She smiled. "Yes. But you said yourself, Sergeant Flynn, that there's plenty to go around."

  Flynn nodded. He wondered how much more she hadn’t told him. Not that he was surprised. With such a large quantity of money at stake, he should have guessed that Nellie and Gilmore had not planned the robbery alone. After all, the money had been guarded by three Yankee soldiers, and Gilmore could not have planned to take on the guards by himself. He had been cocky, but not stupid.

  Fortunately, Hudson had managed to surprise and overpower the guards when the raiders seized the train. While it was convenient that the raiders had removed one of the obstacles in stealing the money, they had created a much bigger problem in that the thieves would be expecting a trio of sleepy Union guards, not a train carrying several trigger-happy Rebels. The thought was enough to make Flynn smile.

  "What was your original plan?" he asked, wondering how much of the truth Nellie would actually tell him. "What were you and Gilmore going to do before things ... changed?"

  “You mean, before you killed him?”

  “That’s not quite how I would have put it.”

  Nellie hesitated, then shrugged, as if deciding there wasn't any reason not to tell him. "Our friends are going to stop the train well outside of Cumberland by putting some trees across the tracks," she said. "When the train stops, the plan is to rush aboard and take the payroll money."

  "What about the guards? They wouldn’t have let you walk off the train with all that money without a fight.”

  "They would have been outnumbered," she said. "Me and Charlie, our job was to help from the inside, any way we could. Then we would ride off with the gang."

  "You would have been caught in no time at all, in the mountains," Flynn said, impressed in spite of himself. It was quite a scheme.

  Nellie shook her head. "There's one or two with us who know the mountain roads like they know the laces on their boots. Nobody would ever find us. We would be long-gone."

  "Back to Baltimore?"

  "Why not?"

  Flynn nodded. It was a good enough plan, except it wouldn't work now. "You know that if your friends stop this train then all hell's going to break loose?"

  Nellie nodded. "There's got to be another way."

  "We'll figure something out, even if we have to throw the money out the window and come back for it later.”

  Captain Fletcher entered the car and Flynn gave Nellie a wink that ended their conversation. Fletcher walked over and looked down at Lieutenant Cater, who still lay unconscious on the floor. "Well, Flynn, is he going to make it?"

  "He's a strong lad." Flynn refused to address Captain Fletcher as sir. "There's not much more we can do for him aboard this train—except pray."

  "You realize that with him wounded, I'm second in command of this raid."

  Flynn crossed himself.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Praying," Flynn said. "Praying for the lad's life."

  Fletcher scowled and stalked off.

  "That man's a fool," Nellie whispered.

  "Oh, he has his purpose in life, just like rats and snakes. He fetches and carries well enough back in Richmond, licks boots and kisses arses. He's a natural-born staff officer, but he's no soldier."

  The train lurched, then began to creep ahead. The cars felt strangely empty without the civilians. Outside the windows, trees began to pass by as the Chesapeake gathered speed. The passengers they had put off stood along the tracks, watching the train roll west.

  “You’ll notice they didn’t wave,” Flynn said. "We're on our way, lass."

  "Stop calling me 'lass,' Irish. My name is Nellie. Miss Jones, to be proper.”

  Flynn smiled. Between the two of them, they just might manage to steal the money, after all. But doubts nagged at Flynn. The cargo they carried was so precious: a fortune in cash, the Yankee president, the hopes of the entire Confederacy. Their odds of success were long, indeed. They still had to cross Maryland and the state was crawling with blue-coated soldiers.

  “You have spirit, Miss Jones. I like that. And you’ll need it before this day is through. Right now, we’re like a couple of rats trying to run the length of an alley filled with stray cats. That’s us, all right, little gray rats in an alley.”

  • • •

  "Now what do we do?" Mrs. Henrietta Parker wondered out loud, a plaintive not in her voice. She paced up and down beside the tracks, hands on her hips, looking for all the world like a plump, rumpled, very angry hen. "Those
Rebels abandoned us to the elements!"

  "Henrietta— "

  "Be quiet, Alfred! The least you and the other men on this train could have done is stand up to them."

  "They had guns," Alfred pointed out. "And from what we saw, they did not hesitate to use them."

  "Thieves and murderers," she said. "How dare they call themselves soldiers. Why, my honor felt threatened."

  Nearby, James Prescott put his hand to his face to hide a smile. It was highly unlikely, he thought, that the raiders would have stormed the formidable fortress that was Mrs. Henrietta Parker.

  The woman who had stayed aboard the train was another matter. He thought it highly imprudent for her to ride along. That attractive young lady was far more likely to find her honor threatened than was Mrs. Parker, he decided. He was a little surprised she had cast in with the train thieves, considering they had killed her traveling companion. Maybe she truly was a Rebel sympathizer. Baltimore was full of them. Then again, she appeared to be a woman who could take care of herself. She looked as if she welcomed adventure.

  Did he? Not really. The truth was, he was glad they were no longer on the train, wondering from one minute to the next if the raiders would shoot them. He realized now how stupid he and Gilmore had been in trying to overpower the Rebel sergeant and the young soldier. Even if they had succeeded, what then? Prescott knew he was lucky to be alive, considering what had happened to Gilmore. The man had paid for their foolishness with his life.

  In spite of all that, Prescott felt some pangs of regret as he watched the train disappear. There went an adventure, he thought, going on without him. Somehow, the fact that the young woman had chosen to ride the train while he had been eager to get off made him feel like less of a man.

  A shout interrupted his thoughts. "Look!" someone cried. "There's smoke on the horizon. Must be a train coming."

  "Flag it down!"

  "No, no, no," Mrs. Parker sputtered. "It could be the Rebels coming back! Alfred, tell them, tell them!"

  "Shut up, Henrietta," Alfred said wearily. "The Rebels are not coming back this way. Now get over here and start waving."