Northern Blood

by Daniel Greene

  The railroad was a vital vein through the Confederacy and was operated by the Virginia Central Railroad. Originally, it was built to serve the farmers of the region to expedite the movement of goods. Now it served by connecting the Confederacy’s eastern armies with the food supplies from the farmers in the Shenandoah Valley. A critical function to continue the war effort.

  The Virginia Central Railroad traveled directly to Richmond, cutting through Hanover Station where goods and personnel could move to a new track of the Richmond & Fredericksburg Railroad and travel north.

  With the relative positioning of the armies, it made sense that the rebels weren’t shipping goods through Hanover north. Most likely the goods would have ended up in Union hands, something the supply-strapped South could ill afford.

  “We’re close now, Lieutenant,” Hogan said.

  “Dismount and into the forest,” Wolf commanded.

  The thick brush made quick work of them and brought his unit to a slow walk. His men struggled through the undergrowth plagued by vines, roots, and grasses trying to snare them.

  When the harsh outline of the rail structure came into view, Wolf pointed at Hale and Pratt. “Horses.”

  The two young men appeared irritated to be stuck with passive dismounted duties but took the reins from the other men.

  Slowly, the unit stalked closer to the train station.

  Wilhelm joined Wolf, walking by his side. “Eventually you’re going to have to let the new men in on it.”

  “When they prove they can handle it,” Wolf muttered, his hands firmly wrapped around his new Spencer carbine. The shiny polished stock held seven metal cartridges. The gun barrel was clean without a touch of rust. It was a true thing of beauty.

  “How can they prove it without a chance?”

  “They can prove it by holding the reins and staying quiet. I don’t have time to mentor them on a mission like this.”

  “I seem to remember another young man who often wanted to prove himself in the face of the enemy.”

  Wolf tried to mask his sigh by breathing out his nose. “A young man who dug enough latrines and sat on enough picket duties until he saw the elephant.”

  “They’re good lads. When the time comes let them do their job.”

  “They’ll get their shot.” He kept his eyes ahead, watching the depot. If there were prisoners there, they would be freed.

  The men neared the forest’s edge, spreading out in a skirmish line. Beaver Dam Station was a new structure composed of freshly cut tan wood. A white sign that was charred around the edges hung on the front and read Beaver Dam in black letters.

  No one had bothered to paint the building that had clearly been rebuilt. A few buildings that acted as storage surrounded the train depot, but the station was the most prominent.

  A loud hoot sounded from the tracks. A single-stack locomotive rested on the rails. An upside-down cone formed the chimney stack, and hot steam leaked from the top. Two large wheels, linked with coupling rods which the engine rotated to propel the train forward, was probably fueled by wood fed into the furnace.

  Men rushed to and fro, unloading supplies from cars into wagons. A team started off in the direction of the ford they’d recently crossed. But it wasn’t them that drew Wolf’s attention, it was the bedraggled defeated men seated on the ground under the watchful gaze of guards holding muskets with long fixed bayonets that shone in the sunlight.

  As he lay in the brush, he counted the number of guards.

  “How many do you see, Lieutenant?” Wilhelm said.

  “A company or so if you count the lot of ‘em.”

  “Psst,” Roberts hissed, drawing Wolf’s attention. The small man pointed toward the rear of the station. An artillery piece rested, limbered to a team of horses near the rear. An officer wearing a red kepi stood nearby smoking a pipe.

  “Goddamn artillery,” Wolf spat.

  Wilhelm spoke from the side. “Looks like a 12-pounder Napoleon smoothbore. But they’re limbered. There’s probably a few more onboard that train. If we operate quickly, we can be in and out before they can unlimber and fire.”

  “A company of men with a battery. All we need is a company of cavalry to show up to complete the defense.”

  “There’s a way to win every fight,” Wilhelm said.

  Wolf racked his brain. Right now, he had few things in his favor. The most important was surprise. They could move fast. He also had over three hundred allies sitting there eager to escape. Weaponless, yes, but able to fight. He didn’t have the time to wait until night to strike.

  The conductor climbed inside the locomotive. More steam puffed through the stack. The guards began to bark at the seated prisoners. There wasn’t much time before they were carted to Richmond’s Belle Isle and beyond. May as well have been a death sentence.

  “Sergeant, we need to move fast. Do you think we can blow the train? Can’t take those boys south without an engine.”

  Wilhelm sighed, eyeing it. “We need something to blow it up with.”

  “Plenty of ammunition in those wagons?”

  “How about that cannon?” Wilhelm said with a slight grin beneath his curled mustache.

  Wolf shared his destructive enthusiasm. “How about it?”

  ***

  Wolf gave the two young men a task he thought was fit for their current lowly station. It was a risky order but vital to the plan’s success. Hale and Pratt would be riding into the depot after his sharpshooters started the attack. And as much as Wolf had protested Wilhelm, he insisted on going with them. The three men were to scream and yell while shooting their pistols and carbines in the air like a band of wild Indians until the rebels decided to give chase.

  The key was impressing upon the rebels that they were under attack. If all went to plan, they would unlimber and load that cannon for Wolf and his men, who could turn it on the locomotive. After that, chaos would reign supreme leading to freeing the captured soldiers.

  Hogan crawled on all fours to where Wolf laid. Both men spied on the rebels going about their business of loading wagons. The guards were having a particularly difficult time getting all the Union men on their feet. Angry gestures with bayonet fixed guns was only getting them so much compliance. “You know I disagree with this.”

  “I do.”

  “This isn’t why we’re here. Our mission is of the utmost importance. These men, to put it frankly, are not. You know I wouldn’t just leave them behind if our cause wasn’t greater.”

  “I will not sit by while these men are submitted to the brutality of a rebel prison.”

  “If we fail, you could be extending the imprisonment of thousands more. Our mission will expedite the end.”

  Wolf ignored him. The sharpshooters were still positioning themselves in the forest surrounding the station. Soon he could see how good of a shot they actually were.

  “Prepare yourself for battle, Mr. Hogan,” Wolf said. The BMI agent may be right, but he would be damned if he didn’t free these men.

  Hogan grabbed his shoulder. “Wolf. Listen to me. You don’t have the authority to do this.”

  Wolf glared at the man then down at his hand. “Last I checked Sheridan put me in charge.” He shrugged himself from the other’s grasp. “We free them. You can file a formal complaint with Sheridan when we return. But these men will be released today.”

  Hogan’s mouth shut with a shake of his head. Another wagon traveled down the road away from the depot. The sun beat down on them through the leaves. The musty smell of dead leaves and damp forest rot filled their noses.

  He adjusted his Spencer. Seven .56-56 copper rimfire rounds lay in the magazine stock of the weapon ready for rapid fire. All of his men had them. They could seem like a company of Union infantry in the woods, not fifteen cavalrymen. He settled in eagerly awaiting the first sharpshooter to make his mark.

  It wasn’t long before the first gunshot cracked the air like a monstrous sheet being torn in half. The rebels around the locomotive didn�
��t respond. Wolf supposed they assumed it was the engine or a man shooting at a deer in the woods. It mattered not.

  The guard went rigid, straight like a musket, and then collapsed onto the ground. A puff of dust clouded the air where he once stood. The prisoners all gaped in awe at the dying guard. The rebel cried out as he died in a pool of his own blood.

  Wolf’s raiders hastily made their way back to their waiting horses. Two more gunshots fired in the distance, and more guards fell. The conductor of the train peeked out his window, and a shot took him in the shoulder. He squawked inside his driver’s compartment. This set the depot alight with armed men.

  Wolf pointed a finger at Wilhelm with the young soldiers. They galloped toward the station, firing shots with their pistols as their horses pounded the ground beneath them.

  Mounting his horse, Wolf waited. Wilhelm’s men made a big ruckus as they shot their pistols dry. Rebels haphazardly fired back. The prisoners ebbed and flowed in their mass. Rescuers had arrived. The remaining guards were jabbing dangerously at them to keep them back with bayonets. Gray-coated infantry were forming in front of the train.

  Wolf’s men walked their horses carefully through the woods, circling to the other side almost perpendicular to the locomotive. He kept stock of his trio of riders wheeling their mounts. A volley blared out from the rebels, and Wilhelm turned his riders around. A victory shout carried forth from the rebels. Yet the sharpshooters continued to bring down individual men.

  The artillerymen went about unlimbering the 12-pounder next to the infantry. The sharpshooters continued to bang away from the forest and the rebels moved their line back adjacent to the locomotive for cover.

  “Clever,” Wolf said.

  “Veteran men,” Hogan said nearby.

  “Get them out of there,” Wolf said under his breath. The gun’s crew started to prep the cannon. He didn’t know where they’d shoot. Perhaps in the woods would be enough to scare away most raiders despite the inaccuracies, but soon it became clear they were aiming for Wilhelm and his men.

  Wilhelm guided them to the edge of the forest. All three had their carbines out firing away at the rebel infantry. Working the lever to chamber a new cartridge, Wilhelm was much faster than the young men. Cock, lever, fire. Infinitely easier than a muzzle-loading musket, and much more efficient than the Sharps or Burnside carbines, a Spencer enabled a good soldier to fire over twenty shots off in a minute. Smoke surrounded the riders from the carbines. That was the gun’s only determent in Wolf’s eyes: too much smoke. One couldn’t hit what they couldn’t see, at least on purpose.

  The three riders presented a prime target for the artillery piece. They were over three hundred yards away and in the open, unlike the sharpshooters landing hits among the rebels in spite of the distance. A canister shot could shred them.

  The cannon finished prepping, and the red-hatted sergeant pointed vigorously at the horsemen. A solid shot rang out and the earth trembled. Wolf thanked God that it was a solid shot instead of canister or a fused shell. The shot burst through a tree near his men, sending shards of wood-like brown rain into the sky.

  Wilhelm turned his horse in a circle and retreated. A platoon of infantry followed at a run. The artillery sergeant was taking no chances, and he pointed at his corporal who brought up a new shot. This was the time. Rebels started to tend the wounded guards. The sharpshooters went quiet.

  “To the cannon!” Wolf shouted.

  His riders burst forth from the trees with their pistols in hands. He dug his heels into his mount, ensuring she understood now was the time for speed. He let out a whoop as they charged the cannon from the rear. The sergeant’s red kepi turned their way. A new round of cheers went out from the prisoners.

  “About face!” the sergeant screamed. “Turn that goddamn cannon rearward!”

  Straining red-faced artillerymen heaved, trying to rotate the artillery piece to face the new threat. Blood burst from the sergeant’s chest as one of the sharpshooters found his mark. He sank onto the wheel, collapsing onto the ground. Wolf’s men closed fast.

  He fired his pistol once, twice, three times. Each shot lifted the barrel into the air with the power of the shot. He leveled the revolver and set his aim again. The fourth shot struck the gunner in the chest, misting scarlet into the air. He fell onto his back, his hands seizing in pain. The rest of the artillery crew stopped everything and gawked. Their corporal screamed at them, but they couldn’t peel their eyes from their comrades. Bullets screamed at them for a few more seconds before they ran in a frenzy, seeking cover down the tracks.

  “Get that gun around!” Wolf shouted. His men hopped from horses. Bart, Dan, and Nelson had the piece spun in a matter of seconds, the brute strength of the men equal to twice maybe even three times that of regular men. All the while Wolf kept his eye on the rebel infantry.

  The remaining rebel infantry were adjusting their line. The other platoon marched back from the forest having lost Wilhelm and his riders to the road. They hadn’t realized they’d been duped into pursuit. Chaos is the master, he thought. Time to buy us some breathing room.

  Wolf kicked his horse in the flanks urging her toward the prisoners. A startled guard took aim and smoke erupted from the muzzle of his musket. Buzzzzz! The bullet passed by Wolf dangerously close.

  He hugged his mount and aimed his pistol as he got within twenty yards. Bang! The bullet hit the man in the leg, and he collapsed, his hands leaping for the wound. The prisoners had seen enough. They lunged for the remaining guards. The guards fought back with blade and musket but with little success. The prisoners swarmed over them, grabbing fallen muskets to arm themselves.

  Wolf spun his mount around. “Fire that cannon!” he yelled at his men.

  The rebel platoon near the forest had seen the revolt and moved quickly to put it down, double-timing their way back to the depot.

  “Fire the cannon!”

  The conductor jumped from the driver’s compartment and ran from the train. Standing to the side of the cannon, Wilhelm ripped a lanyard.

  Boom!

  The cannon blasted smoke and fire from its iron lips; the solid shot hit the engine in the side. A fiery inferno erupted into the air. Men jumped to the ground, and Wolf ducked.

  Metal and wood shot outward with deadly purpose. The energy was powerful, and every single man stopped what they were doing to stare.

  Wolf’s horse reared into the air, and Wolf held on as best he could to her neck. “Easy, Sarah!”

  The wreckage burned, and it lost its spell over the men.

  “Thank you!” shouted a Union prisoner. They bolted for the forests. Rebels fired at the fleeing men. Sharpshooter fire kept the rebels pushing backward. Hundreds of men in blue ran for their lives, scrambling through trees and over logs to escape.

  Wolf watched them run. Godspeed, good men. “Roberts, collect them up! We ride.”

  Quickly remounting, Wolf’s raiders soon galloped again in the opposite direction of the fleeing Union prisoners. Confusion ruled the depot, and the rebels didn’t know which men to follow. Eventually the easier target remained, and the rebels chased after the prisoners into the surrounding forest.

  Wolf’s raiders galloped down a road and halted. Pistols and Spencers were reloaded as they waited for the rest of their men to rejoin them. Wilhelm’s men trotted up first. Hale and Pratt’s eyes were agape, but Wilhelm appeared as calm as an old dog about to nap on a sunny porch.

  “How’d they do?” Wolf asked.

  “Adequate,” the sergeant said.

  Wolf spoke to the two young men. “Very good. I expect an excellent next time, boys.”

  Hale and Pratt nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir.”

  They didn’t have to wait long before they were joined by the sharpshooters. “Excellent shooting, men,” Wolf said.

  “It’s gonna take dem boys three days to round all them prisoners up,” Skinner said.

  “Let’s hope some of them reach the Army of the Potomac.”

&nbs
p; “Ah, I’m sure a few will.”

  “Then we’ve done enough.”

  Wolf turned to Hogan. “You may lead us to the Fontaine house.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Early Morning, May 9, 1864

  Near Beaver Dam Depot, Virginia

  A morning fog rolled over the land, smothering the trees and hovering over the ground like an unsettled snow. The mist surrounding the white plantation mansion only added to the mystery of who resided within.

  Wolf’s men dismounted and stuck the two new members of their unit, Hale and Pratt, with watching the mounts. If the two young men were disappointed, they were hiding it now. The danger involved in riding with Wolf was beginning to show itself to them, and perhaps staying with the horses was a noble enough cause.

  Wolf had decided thundering in on horseback would spook the people within and potentially lead to a chase. He pointed at George and motioned him out into the forest then sent James in the other direction. To Skinner, he made a half circle, meaning for him to round to the other side of the manor house. They would ensure no one fled on foot.

  Then he settled beneath a tall oak and watched the building in the quiet of the morning, waiting for the men to get into position. His civilian-dressed troopers spied out from behind trees.

  The plantation mansion was a Georgian style home with redbrick chimneys on either end with symmetrically spaced windows and a door centered in the middle.

  Wilhelm hovered near Wolf. “Everyone yet sleeps. Now is a good time to strike. Groggy men make poor fighters.”

  “I would agree, but look,” Wolf said. He gestured with his head at a colored man standing outside his humble cabin near the edge of the property.

  The slave wore a white shirt and loose brown trousers. He carried a hoe in one hand and strolled toward a nearby field. He hummed to himself, his melody accompanied by the soft swick, swick, swick of him digging the tool into the earth.

  “We must move fast. Before the house is abuzz with activity.” Speed and surprise were always desired if they could be attained in any military endeavor. “Sergeant Berles, you take your men around back. Sergeant Roberts, your men stay with me.”