by David Healey
"What do you do back in Baltimore, Miss Nellie?" Benjamin asked. "I reckon you ain't married."
"Why don't it seem like I'm married?"
Benjamin turned a deeper shade of red. "It just don't, is all."
"Well, I'm a schoolteacher," Nellie said.
Flynn had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing. He glanced at Nellie, but she had a perfectly straight face. The lass was a smooth liar, yes, she was. A schoolteacher! She was a whore, if ever he had seen one. A fancy whore, to be sure, but a whore nonetheless.
The boy appeared satisfied with her answer. He looked ready to ask another question, but the train began to slow. The drive wheels squealed as the engineer reversed direction. It was no small task to stop a hurtling train. Flynn, Nellie and Benjamin were nearly thrown off their feet.
"Why the hell are we stopping?" Flynn wondered out loud.
Benjamin ran to the windows, fighting to keep his balance as the train rocked and swayed.
"There's a depot up ahead," he reported. "Looks like we're going to stop there."
Flynn stood, drew the big Le Mat revolver, and checked the loads and priming caps.
"Trouble?" Nellie asked.
"Don't know," he said. "But if there's no trouble on the tracks ahead, then it's coming up behind us."
"You're right, Sergeant," Benjamin said. "That other train ain't far behind."
"Come on, lad," Flynn said. "Let's see what all the ruckus is about."
• • •
4 p.m., Kearneysville, West Virginia
The train rolled to a stop at the depot. Within minutes, the lone station agent was tied up and locked inside his office.
The engineer, fireman and Willie Forbes hurried to resupply the locomotive from the water tower and wood pile.
"Hurry, boys!" Percy shouted. "There's not much time."
Every minute brought their pursuers closer. The trail of smoke grew ominously larger in the sky. Percy had no idea who was on the pursuing train or whether it carried any armed men. He was not about to let his own men be captured while they took on wood and water.
"Them Yankees are getting closer," Pettibone drawled.
"All right, listen here," Percy said. "We're going to give those Yankees a surprise."
Quickly, he outlined his plan. His men were soon working to pile railroad ties on the tracks just behind the train. There was a big stack of ties nearby and the men paired off and lugged the heavy timbers and laid them across the iron rails. At the very least, it would take their pursuers several minutes to clear the tracks.
On a siding, they discovered a boxcar loaded with rails and ties meant for repairs. Percy had the men push it into place behind Lincoln's car. They coupled it to the train, then broke out a few boards at one end to make a front entrance. Percy claimed it might prove useful later.
Wilson was busy filling the water tank. It seemed to be taking forever. Forbes and Cunningham slung chunks of firewood into the tender as fast as they could. The tender was little more than a water tank on wheels, with high sides so that firewood could be piled on top.
"How much longer, Wilson?" Percy shouted toward the engine.
"Give us twenty minutes, Colonel, and we'll have enough wood and water to run clear to Ohio if we want."
"We don't have twenty minutes," Percy. "And we're going to Virginia, not Ohio. You've got five minutes."
"Wood's wet, Colonel," Forbes complained, nearly breathless from work. "They ain't got no shed here to keep the wood dry."
"It will burn once it gets in that firebox," Percy said. "It's hot as Hades in there."
Percy looked over his shoulder. The other train was coming on fast. Too fast. He wasn't sure now that he could even give Wilson the five minutes to finish refueling the Chesapeake. In any case, Percy didn't want to be caught unprepared if the pursuers roared into Kearneysville with a train loaded with soldiers.
"Get ready for a fight, boys!" Percy shouted, running for the barricade. If it came to it, they would use their guns to buy a few more minutes for replenishing the train. Getting a head start on the Yankees wouldn't do them a bit of good if they ran out of steam before the rendezvous point.
Percy deployed his men in pairs. Flynn and Benjamin took positions behind the stack of ties, just to one side of the tracks. Hazlett and Cook took the other side, behind the rough wooden building that served as the stationmaster's office. Pettibone and Fletcher crawled beneath the boxcar, sheltering behind the iron wheels. For a hastily laid ambush, Percy decided, it wasn't bad. The Rebels would be able to pour fire down either side of the train when it arrived. Any Yankees who jumped off would find themselves in the Confederates's gunsights.
The train came on, sounding like a distant thunderstorm approaching.
"If those fool Yankees don't slow down, they're going to slam right into the back of the Chesapeake," Percy warned
"Get ready, lads!" Flynn shouted.
The rails hummed. Then, like a great, black beast spitting smoke and sparks, the pursuing locomotive swept into Kearneysville. Iron howled on iron as the Lord Baltimore reversed its drive wheels and struggled to stop in time. The locomotive barreled down on the raiders.
"Steady, boys!" Percy shouted from his own position beside the boxcar filled with rails and ties. He cocked the hammer of his Colt. "Keep hidden until I give the word."
• • •
"Stop the train!" Greer cried as the locomotive bore down on the Chesapeake. "Do it now, Oscar, now!"
The Lord Baltimore hurtled toward Kearneysville station at almost seventy miles per hour. Greer had known they were hot on the raiders's trail, but he hadn't counted on finding the Chesapeake stopped dead ahead as they rushed around a bend in the tracks.
Schmidt swore in German. He and Greer had seen the Chesapeake in the same instant. Less experienced men might have panicked, but Schmidt's body reacted purely on instinct. He threw the engine into neutral, then reversed the gears.
For a few sickening moments, it looked as if Schmidt still hadn't reacted in time. The massive engine gave no sign of stopping, but slid relentlessly toward the rear cars of the Chesapeake, like a sledgehammer bearing down on a spike. Greer held his breath. The Rebels had thrown some ties across the rails and he was sure the Lord Baltimore would scatter the piled ties like so many matchsticks and ram the boxcar.
The driving wheels spun wildly, fighting the weight and inertia of the speeding train. Then the engine began to slow amid the scream of iron on iron. A great geyser of steam shot up. As the wheels gained traction, the locomotive slowed and crept to a halt with its huge "cow catcher" just short of the hastily erected barricade.
Greer let his breath out.
Then the shooting began.
• • •
"Let them have it, boys!" Percy shouted as he pulled the trigger and the Colt jumped in his hand.
He could see that the tender was swarming with blue-coated soldiers. The engine's cab was also packed with men. There were just too many soldiers. Percy wanted to keep them pinned down. If the Yankees rushed the train, Percy knew his handful of raiders would be overwhelmed.
The first shots from Percy's men struck two soldiers, who fell into the brown grass beside the tracks and sprawled there, unmoving. The rest took shelter inside the iron-sided tender and started to shoot back.
The raiders were outnumbered, but their revolvers enabled them to fire nearly forty shots within the space of a minute. The Yankees, armed with muzzle-loading Springfield rifles, returned fire at a much slower rate.
Nothing made Percy's skin crawl so much as the weird buzz of a mini bullet zipping past his ear. He suddenly heard several. Splinters flew from the piles of ties behind which his men were sheltering. They couldn't hold the Yankees for long.
After getting off that first shot, Percy held his own fire until his men emptied their guns. Then he fired as his men reloaded. He picked his targets carefully, forcing the Yankees to keep their heads down.
He looked back
at the Chesapeake, where he could see the train crew working. Hurry, damn you, hurry. He shouted to be heard over the gunfire: "Two minutes, Wilson! Then get her rolling!"
The engineer acknowledged him with a wave and Percy turned back to the work at hand. Some of his men had reloaded and were shooting back. Still, one good rush from the Yankees and it would all be over.
A man jumped down from the engine's cab. Percy recognized him as the Chesapeake's conductor, still wearing his blue uniform with the double row of shiny brass buttons. Amazed, he realized this man had been pursuing them relentlessly since they had taken the train at Sykesville. How many miles was that? Seventy? Eighty? Percy felt a grudging sense of admiration for the conductor. Not just any man would chase a train that far. The colonel also felt a twinge of uneasiness. It was the stubborn Yankees who were the most dangerous.
As Percy watched, the conductor acted indifferently toward the hail of fire from the Confederates, not even bothering to hurry. As bullets flicked around him, he stopped to shout something at the captain cowering behind the engine. He then stomped angrily to one of the dead Yankees, snatched up the soldier's rifle, and aimed it deliberately at Percy.
Percy swung the revolver up and aimed hastily, but the hammer fell on an empty chamber. Damn. He ducked, and shards of wood exploded from near where his head had been a second ago.
The conductor turned and rallied the soldiers. Bayonets flashed in the late afternoon sun as they fixed them to their rifle muzzles. In a moment, the soldiers would charge and put an end to the raid. Percy's men were outnumbered two-to-one, and would be overwhelmed.
"Here they come, lads!" Flynn shouted in warning.
Beside Percy, the train lurched forward and began to move. Pettibone and Fletcher, positioned behind the wheels of the boxcar, had to roll out of the way to keep from being run over. Yankee rifles spit lead at them as soon as they were in the open.
"Get on the train!" Percy ordered. "Let's get out of here!"
The Yankees charged, shouting “Huzzah!”
Chapter 27
"Sweet mother of Jesus," Flynn said. "Here they come." His revolver clicked on an empty chamber.
"Come on, Flynn," Percy said. "Let's get the hell out of here."
"Did you think I was going to stay and get a bayonet in the guts?"
They turned and ran.
Yankees pounded up the tracks right behind them. A tall Yankee outran the others and lifted his rifle high for a killing thrust at Percy's back. Hudson jumped from between two cars, a blazing gun in each hand. Bullets knocked the tall Yankee off his feet and killed the man behind him. The other soldiers faltered long enough for Percy and Flynn to swing aboard the train.
The Yankees did not give up. The Chesapeake had not built enough speed to lose them, even on foot. They were still led by the conductor, who urged the soldiers on as they rushed the train, trying to climb aboard the last two cars—the boxcar of supplies and Lincoln's car. Most of their rifles were empty, so they jabbed their bayonets at the raiders defending the cars. The raiders's guns were empty, too, so they could only stomp on the hands of any Yankee who got a grip on the car, while dodging the knife-edged bayonets thrust at them. Legs were sliced open, fingers broke, and both sides screamed curses. The vicious running brawl followed the train down the tracks.
One bearded soldier grabbed hold of the iron railing at the back of Lincoln's car and began to pull himself up. Flynn clubbed him with the butt of his pistol and the Yankee fell away with a strangled shout.
In the boxcar doorway, Cook screamed as a bayonet caught him in the calf and sliced to the bone. Hazlett kicked the soldier in the face and the man tumbled away.
The train gained speed. The soldiers had to run faster to keep up, and one by one they fell behind. Some loaded their rifles and fired. The whine of minié bullets followed the locomotive out of range. Aboard the Chesapeake, the raiders caught their breath.
"That was hot work, gentlemen," Percy announced. He was bleeding from a bayonet gash near his knee. All four men were bloody and breathless from the fight.
"Those Yankees have a lot of spirit," Flynn said. He, too, had been nicked in a couple of places, but he had taken his revenge. Flynn had felt at least two hands crushed under his boots as the Yankees tried to get onto the car.
Percy nodded at Lincoln's door. "Any sound from in there?" he asked Hudson.
"No, Colonel. All quiet."
Percy was glad Lincoln had not tried to escape during the confusion of the skirmish, because the president surely would have been killed in the crossfire. Percy was determined to deliver President Lincoln alive and well to Richmond. He felt that anything less would mean the raid was a failure.
Pettibone poked his head out from the hole in the boxcar. "Now what, Colonel?"
"Anybody hurt?"
"Cook got cut pretty bad. Hazlett's wrapping up his leg. Other than that, just a few scratches." As usual, Pettibone was the master of understatement. His lower legs were covered in blood from his bayonet wounds. The four men in the last car had suffered the worst of the Yankee attack. Fletcher was the only one who hadn't been hurt, mainly because he had hung back while the others battled the Yankees in the doorway.
Percy glanced at the blood, but didn't say anything about it. "All right. Now listen to me, Pettibone. I want you boys to knock a hole to match this one in the back wall of the boxcar. Use some of those ties in there as a battering ram if you have to."
Pettibone looked puzzled.
"You'll see," Percy said. "When you're finished, tell the other three to keep an eye out, because the Yankees will be after us again like flies on molasses. You come out here with Hudson to guard the president."
"Yes, sir."
Pettibone disappeared into the boxcar, where he relayed the orders to Hazlett, Cook and Fletcher. After the fight, the wounded men weren't happy about the work at hand. Some grumbled as they picked up a railroad tie and began battering at the back wall of the box car.
"The colonel treats us like dogs, you know," Hazlett said.
"Shut up, Hazlett," Pettibone said. Normally, he was too wary of Hazlett to speak up, but the exhaustion and pain from his cut legs had dulled his sense of caution. "Percy has kept us from being caught yet, hasn’t he?"
"That was damn close back there," Hazlett snarled. "If the Yankees catch us, you know what they're goin' to do, don't you? They're goin' to hang us right beside the railroad tracks as thieves and spies. You ever seen anybody hang, Pettibone? It ain't pretty. Your tongue gets all swollen and hangs out of your mouth, you shit your pants and if your neck don't snap right off you swing there, kicking your feet."
Beside him, Fletcher paled. "They can't hang us like that," he said, his voice barely audible.
"See if they don't," Hazlett replied.
"I seen men die," Pettibone said flatly. "You're forgettin' I've been in this here war for almost three years. Ain't no way to die that's pretty, 'cept maybe home in bed. Now swing this damn rail, will you?"
Hazlett took hold of his end of the rail. They pounded at the end wall until one by one the boards popped loose and they had created a ragged hole. As soon as they finished, Pettibone crawled out the front of the car to continue his guard duty with Hudson.
Hazlett watched Pettibone go, a crooked smile on his face. "Colonel won't trust me to guard Honest Abe, I reckon. He knows I'd finish the job and be done with it."
Hazlett, Fletcher and Cook were alone in the boxcar. Cook touched the bloody bandage around his lower leg, then sipped at a flask of whiskey to dull the pain. The wound throbbed as if someone was jabbing at his leg with a hot poker. He knew the pain would only get worse.
"If that leg turns bad it will have to come off," Hazlett said. "Some doctor will have at it with a bone saw."
"Go to hell, Hazlett. It ain't goin' to turn bad."
"You get gangrene on us and die, hell, that leaves more of that money for us."
"It ain't turnin' bad," Cook said, a little desperately this time
. Every soldier had seen the horror of rotting arms and legs from infected wounds. The only salvation then lay in a doctor sawing off the infected limb. The operation was almost as likely to kill a man as the gangrene. "I know it ain't."
"We've got to get that money now, while the Yankees ain't breathing down our necks," Hazlett said. "If we don't take it now, we ain't goin' to be around to do it. Captain, you still with us? We need to get that money and get off the train now. If we do that, the Yankees ain't goin' to get a chance to hang us."
"I'm with you," Fletcher said. He could almost feel the raw burn of a noose around his neck.
"The colonel won't like it," Cook said. "He's your own kin, Hazlett."
Hazlett snorted and bared his fang-like teeth in a sneer. "He's kin I can do without. Always acts like he's better than me. Besides, once those Yankees catch him, they'll stretch his neck right good. If he gets in our way, I'll save them the trouble."
"So what do we do?" Fletcher asked.
Hazlett took out his revolver. "What we do is load our guns. Then we make ourselves rich."
• • •
"Get those ties off the tracks!" Greer barked at the soldiers. "Hurry it up!"
The soldiers worked feverishly, several of them grabbing at once for the heavy timbers and pitching them aside. Some of the men worked with fingers broken in the attack, but they did not complain. The Rebels had killed four of their own. Now, they were bent on revenge.
The ties piled across the tracks were not a huge obstacle, but it was enough to slow them down and buy the Rebels time. Already, the Chesapeake was gathering speed, disappearing down the tracks. A few soldiers still loaded and fired after the train, but Greer ordered them to put down their muskets and help with the work.