Rebel Train: A Civil War Novel

by David Healey

  "How are we going to get all my men on there?" Captain Lowell wondered.

  "They can ride on the tender if they have to," Greer said. As he admired the gleaming new locomotive, it was all he could do not to give a big old war whoop. "Ha! With an engine like that, there's nothing that can outrun us."

  The soldiers jammed aboard the Lord Baltimore. At first, the conductor for the B&O's new locomotive complained, but his protests were soon drowned out. Red-faced, he jumped down from the cab and shook his fist at Greer. "If you wreck this train, it's on your head, not mine!"

  Not all the displaced crew was so hostile. "We saw your train go by," the Lord Baltimore's fireman said to Greer. "She was steaming west like a bat out of hell. She's got quite a head start, but if anything can catch her, it's this engine here."

  Greer, Schmidt and Frost crowded into the cab, along with the young captain. The soldiers climbed onto the tender or wherever else they could find a perch.

  They were just getting underway when a lone, rotund figure jumped down heavily from the train they had been riding and ran toward them with a rolling, clumsy gait.

  "Wait for me!" the heavyset man puffed. Greer recognized him as one of the passengers from the Chesapeake put off by the raiders. "I want to come along."

  "Who the hell are you?" Greer demanded.

  "My name's Prescott," he wheezed. "I'm a lawyer."

  Greer could not help but laugh. "We don't need any lawyers, Mr. Prescott. We're going to hang these Rebs, not sue 'em—or put 'em on trial, either, for that matter."

  "I want to see this thing through," Prescott said. "Besides, I know all these Confederates by sight. I can help you find them if they leave the train and head into any towns."

  "He has a point there," Captain Lowell said.

  Greer thought it over. "All right, Mr. Prescott, jump on."

  Prescott was jogging alongside the engine, which was rapidly gaining speed. The effort left him red-faced and wheezing. Schmidt reached down and helped swing Prescott's bulk aboard. The cab became even more crowded as the fat man squeezed inside.

  Not that Greer was paying any attention to comfort. He smiled, watching Schmidt's capable hands work the controls. He had heard about the Lord Baltimore, and he knew they were going after the raiders in one of the biggest, fastest locomotives that had ever run the B&O's rails. This was one of the new breed of locomotives that would spin across the rails leading west once the bloodshed of the war was over.

  Greer watched an enormous grin appear on the engineer's beefy face as he opened the throttle and felt the power of the huge driving wheels spin, then finally catch on the rails. Frost was busy with a shovel, tossing coal into the firebox. Unlike most of the other trains operated by the B&O, the Lord Baltimore was a coal-burner. The new-fangled fuel provided an even, intense heat that helped push the locomotive to greater speeds than her wood-burning counterparts. Thick, black smoke poured from the funnel overhead.

  "Now we've got them!" Greer shouted. He felt elated. He had a fast engine under him and a squadron of armed soldiers aboard. Finally, he had a real chance of catching and stopping the Rebel raiders. "We'll hang every last one of the bastards along the tracks and let the crows peck the eyes out of their damn Rebel carcasses."

  "We don't have any rope," Captain Lowell pointed out.

  "Then we shall have a firing squad," Greer said. "Line up those thieving Rebs and shoot them." He was enjoying himself.

  "I'm not sure I can order my men to do that," Lowell said uneasily.

  "You can always shoot the Rebels if they try to escape, Captain," Greer pointed out, grinning wickedly, and thinking that Lowell was too soft to be a decent officer. "It might just happen that those Rebs are all going to be shot trying to escape. What do you think of that, Mr. Prescott? From a legal point of view?"

  The lawyer was still trying to get his wind back after running to catch the train. "Whatever you say," he wheezed. "You're the conductor."

  "That's what I like to hear." Greer clapped him on the back, then said gleefully, "Open her up, Oscar. Let's see what she can do."

  Schmidt opened the throttle wide. The sudden rush of wind tore off the soldiers’ hats and howled outside the cab as the engine surged ahead, faster and faster. To Greer's ears, that wind was the sound of vengeance.

  Chapter 24

  3:20 p.m., just east of Harpers Ferry, West Virginia

  "Ain't much wood left, Colonel," said Cephas Wilson, nodding at the tender. Operating at full-throttle, the Chesapeake burned terrific quantities of wood. Wilson glanced at a gauge. "And we're low on water."

  "No time to stop now," Percy said. "We've got to get across that bridge and through Harpers Ferry. Once we've done that, we'll practically be in Virginia. We can take on wood and water before running for the valley."

  "Yes, sir."

  "What's the next station coming up beyond the river?"

  "Kearneysville."

  "We'll stop there."

  Wilson looked worried. "If we can hold out that long."

  "We'll have to," Percy snapped. "We're too close to Harpers Ferry to stop now and we sure as hell can't go back."

  "I'll coax as much out of her as I can," Wilson said.

  "I know you will. Now, I am going to climb back and tell Willie Forbes to come up here to help Hank with the wood," Percy said. "Keep her wide open and don't stop for anything. We've got to get across that bridge."

  Percy knew the safest course of action would be to stop the train and send Sergeant Pettibone ahead to scout the Yankee position. Were there any obstacles on the track? Did the Yankee gunners have their artillery aimed at the bridge, waiting for the appearance of the stolen train?

  There was no time, however, to be cautious. The rapidly fading daylight dictated that.

  Not that Percy had ever been known for caution. He smiled to himself. His reputation for military success had been built upon daring and surprise. He would have to hope that his luck held out at least one more time. Sometimes, it paid to be reckless. They would have to run at the bridge full throttle, hoping to rush across before the Yankee sentries could react. By then, they would be in West Virginia, racing toward the Shenandoah Valley and their rendezvous with Confederate forces there.

  • • •

  At that moment in Richmond, Colonel William Norris was climbing into his carriage in front of the Confederate Signal Bureau. His destination was Libby Prison, where captured Federal officers were held prisoner in the heart of the city.

  Built of brick, the three-story prison had once been a tobacco warehouse. Eight cavernous rooms were crowded with prisoners. Sanitation and medical care were practically non-existent. The dead were carried out daily.

  Some Richmond residents saw the prison as a disgrace. Corrupt prison officials pocketed the money intended to feed and clothe the Yankees imprisoned there. The mass of prisoners was reduced to eating thin, greasy soup in which a few gray lumps of gristle floated. Water was scarce, blankets scarcer as winter came on. No wonder soldiers held there for any length of time were reduced to mere hollow-eyed skeletons. They wore whatever rags they could to guard against the chill within the prison walls.

  Norris believed the prison was a necessary evil. Captured Yankees must be held somewhere. Their sorry condition was the fault of their government, which refused to pay for their keep or to operate any meaningful prisoner exchange.

  "Hello, sir," said one of the prison guards, greeting Norris. In the last few weeks, the reclusive colonel had become a familiar sight at Libby Prison. "What brings you here today, Colonel?"

  "I've come to check on the progress of the special cell I've ordered prepared."

  "This way, sir."

  Although it was only early afternoon, the hallways were dim. The guard led the way with a lantern. Norris wrinkled his nose against the smell inside the walls, wondering how the guards ever got used to the stench.

  The cell was apart from the others, in an area reserved for high-ranking prisoners. Less fortun
ate prisoners were held in the cavernous warehouse areas like so much livestock.

  Not that the cell was comfortable. It was barely big enough to contain a bed and battered table and chair. The wall facing the hallways was built entirely of iron bars and a single, barred window overlooked the city street below. It was Norris' hope that crowds would gather outside to taunt the man who would be held here. There would be no privacy for the prisoner. In fact, the man held here would be very much like an animal on display.

  "Is it suitable, Colonel?" the guard asked.

  "Very much so."

  "Who are you planning to hold here? He must be important."

  Norris smiled. The guard shuffled uneasily, regretting that he had asked the question. "Oh, he is important," Norris finally answered. "You can't get much more important than the President of the United States."

  • • •

  "He's coming around!" Nellie cried out, cradling Silas Cater's head. He had been unconscious since being wounded by the shotgun blast. "Quick, do we have any brandy?"

  Flynn hurried over. He carried a small flask filled with good Virginia bourbon, which he had liberated from one of the passengers. "Give him a few drops of this. It's not brandy, but it will do."

  Cater stirred, groaning, and Nellie trickled a tiny amount of whiskey into his mouth. He coughed and his eyes fluttered open.

  "Dear God," he moaned. "But my head does ache."

  "You've been shot, Lieutenant," Flynn said. "You're going to be all right."

  "It feels like my skull has been split by an axe."

  "Pain is a good sign. It means you're alive. And that you've got a thick skull."

  "Here, have some more of this," Nellie said, and spilled a few more drops of whiskey into his mouth.

  Fletcher wandered over and glared down at Lieutenant Cater's bloody head and face. "So he's not going to die?"

  "Shut up, Fletcher," Flynn muttered, then turned to Cater. "You see, Lieutenant, he wants to be second in command, God save us."

  "Where are we?" Cater managed to ask, even as he grimaced in pain. "What's going on?"

  "We're about to cross the Potomac."

  "At Harpers Ferry?"

  "That's right."

  "Then we'll be that much closer to home, thank God." Cater closed his eyes.

  "Stay with us, Lieutenant," Nellie said. She tipped a bottle toward his lips. "Drink some water."

  "You're a fine nurse for a volunteer, Miss Jones," Flynn said, smiling impishly.

  "He's hurt bad," Benjamin said. "Wouldn't he be better off in a hospital?"

  "That he would, lad. The one here in Harpers Ferry would do nicely. But you heard the Colonel. He won't want us to leave Lieutenant Cater here in Harpers Ferry for the Yankees to take care of. We'll take our wounded with us."

  "I was just saying he needs a hospital," Benjamin said testily.

  Flynn smiled. The boy had regained some of his former bravado since the passengers had been put off. Full of piss and vinegar again. That was a good thing, as far as Flynn was concerned. At this point, all the raiders had going for them was luck, confidence, and several loaded revolvers. Pretty soon, all hell was going to break loose and it remained to be seen if their guns would be enough to save them.

  "See if you can't put a few Yankees in the hospital when the time comes, lad."

  Benjamin went back to the front of the car, where he had a better view of Maryland Heights looming ahead. Flynn didn't have the heart to point out that the high ground there contained several batteries of artillery which could easily blast the train into pieces. It was doubtful that the Yankees would do that and risk damaging valuable property, such as the locomotive or even the train tracks themselves. Flynn thought it more likely the Yankees would block the tracks with some obstacle to force the raiders to stop.

  Then again, the Yankees might not even know they were coming. They had been lucky so far. That luck might hold for one more river crossing.

  "What are you thinking?" Nellie asked.

  "That luck is like a shoestring, Nellie. It always gives out at the worst time."

  "You could have kept that thought to yourself."

  He leaned down near Nellie's ear so that he could whisper. He smelled a hint of perfume and might have even tried to steal a kiss if he hadn't been afraid of getting a knife in the ribs. "That money is going to be ours yet, lass. Just you see. If we can get across the Potomac, we're that much closer to being richer than Queen Victoria."

  "It's still a long way to Cumberland," Nellie pointed out.

  "We'll get there one mile at a time," Flynn said. "Or not at all. But tell me something. Why are you doing this? Why do you want the money?"

  "To be rich, of course."

  "Everyone wants to be rich. But what good will it do you?"

  Nellie thought it over. "Most men want just one thing from a woman like me. When they're done with that, they're done with me. I'm no better than a slave that way, really. With money, I won't need men, or a man. I won't need to do all the things I've done just to survive. I will finally be free."

  Flynn nodded. "No hard feelings about Charlie?"

  "He would've just drank up his share and spent it on clothes. What did he know? He's a man."

  "What about me? Do you think I'm just as much of a fool?"

  "I haven't made up my mind," Nellie said. "It all depends on how this train ride turns out."

  "Maybe this train is carrying us to hell."

  "What do I care?" Nellie said. "I've already been there."

  The door of the car opened and Percy entered, followed by Sergeant Hazlett. Percy saw Nellie and Flynn bent over Lieutenant Cater and hurried to them, covering the distance in three quick strides. Hazlett struck up a conversation with Captain Fletcher, then wandered toward the door at the back of the car, which led into the baggage car. Nellie and Flynn watched anxiously.

  "How is he?" Percy asked, kneeling beside the wounded lieutenant.

  "Better. He came around, which is a good sign. But I think the pain was too much. We gave him a little whiskey."

  "Silas, can you hear me?" Percy asked.

  There was no answer.

  "He's out again," Nellie said. "I think he'll be all right. What he needs is rest."

  Percy nodded. He hated to see Silas die stupidly, killed as the result of a lucky shot. Then again, Percy had seen his share of men die for no good reason in this war. There was never much sense to it.

  He knew this wasn't the time for such thoughts. There were other matters at hand. "Harpers Ferry is coming up," he said. "There may be trouble."

  "How does it look for getting across the bridge?" Flynn asked. He knew well enough that crossing the Potomac would be a problem, especially if the Yankees guarding the bridge had any advance warning or became the least bit suspicious.

  "We're going across at full speed to see if we can surprise them," the colonel said. He stood up and looked around. "Where's Hazlett?"

  The sergeant was gone. Flynn noticed Captain Fletcher had disappeared as well. Somehow, the two had slipped out when he wasn't looking, although he had a pretty good idea of where they were.

  "They went into the baggage car," Benjamin answered the colonel.

  Flynn's eyes met Nellie's. Trouble. Their hopes of quietly spiriting the payroll money off the train would be gone if Hazlett and Fletcher found it.

  Just then, they heard a shout of triumph, and Flynn's heart sank. Fletcher came running out of the other car, his face filled with excitement.

  "Colonel! We found a whole pile of money in there. It's amazing." Fletcher was babbling. "It's a fortune!"

  "What are you talking about?" Percy asked.

  "The baggage car, sir. It's full of money."

  Hazlett walked in with greenbacks gripped in each fist. He looked, Flynn thought, as pleased with himself as a dog that had caught a rat. He was grinning so hard that the long scar beneath his eye was bunched up into a knot. "There must be thousands of dollars in there," Hazlett said. "Go
od Yankee greenbacks, not the worthless Confederate scrip we're used to."

  Percy disappeared into the baggage car. Flynn chanced a look with Nellie. He expected to see a hopeless expression. Instead, her eyes were bright and cunning. He guessed that she was already trying to think of a way to keep the money to herself.

  The colonel reappeared. Unlike Fletcher or Hazlett, who had been so excited about the discovery, Percy looked unhappy. Flynn thought he knew why: so much money complicated their mission, which was to kidnap President Lincoln.

  "Must be payroll money," Percy said. "This train's destination was originally Cumberland. It's most likely meant to pay the Yankee garrison there. That would explain the guards back in Sykesville, too. I thought they were for Lincoln, but it's more likely they had no idea the president was aboard. The Yankees probably planned it that way, so that Lincoln would have some extra protection with the guards and they would be more alert, too, to any trouble."

  "Not that it did them a damn bit of good," Flynn pointed out.

  "Right you are, Sergeant," Percy said. "We still managed to get their president. Not that it will do us a damn bit of good if we don't get across that bridge."

  "Forget Lincoln," Hazlett said. "Let's shoot him and be done with it. I say we stop the train, take the money, and slip off into the woods. We might have some kind of chance. The Yankees are about to blow us right off that bridge."

  "Damn you, Hazlett!" Percy's face twisted in anger and his eyes sparked. Flynn was amazed by the outburst, which hinted at some deeper anger toward his cousin-in-law. Just as suddenly, the colonel took a deep breath and calmed himself. "Our orders, Sergeant, are to bring Lincoln to Richmond if at all possible. We're only to shoot him as a last resort. Our orders include nothing about taking payroll money. Is that clear?"

  Hazlett's eyes were hateful, his answer grudging. "Yes, sir."

  "Then get back to your post, Sergeant. I believe you're supposed to be in the next car with Private Cook."

  Hazlett left without replying. Percy wasn't finished with his orders.

  "Flynn?"