Rebel Train: A Civil War Novel

Chapter 2

"Tickets, please!"

As the locomotive swept into a long curve, the sudden shift in direction made the passenger car roll like a ship riding the ocean's swells. Bad leg or not, Conductor George Greer kept his balance as easily as any sea captain. He had ridden this route so many times that he knew every bump in the rails.

He squinted into the autumn sunlight, saw the blue shadows of the Allegheny Mountains on the horizon. Despite repeated raids by Confederate cavalry in the mountains and the Shenandoah Valley, the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad remained one of the busiest railways in the nation. The tracks gleamed like knives stabbing into the distance.

The great locomotive spewed a cloud of smoke and sparks as the Chesapeake spun along the iron rails. Sunlight reflected off the locomotive's massive black bulk, glinted on the brass bell and the glass windows that enclosed the cab. The driving wheels, two on each side and taller than a man, churned in a blur of iron as the locomotive roared at sixty miles per hour across the gently rolling farmland west of Baltimore.

The train was traveling faster than it should have, but Greer had always been reckless when it came to speed. He knew what his locomotive could do. In fact, he knew every piston and rod and valve. Greer was thirty-three years old, blue-eyed, with brown hair and a serious, determined face. The corners of his eyes and mouth drooped slightly to give him a doleful look, like a bloodhound. He was short but powerfully built, with strong arms, broad shoulders and a barrel chest. A bulldog of a man. Even with a limp, Greer looked as if he could back up the authority in his voice. When he gave an order aboard his train, crew and passengers alike did as they were told.

At the battle of Bull Run in 1861, a Confederate bullet had left him with the limp and a deep hatred of the secessionists who had divided the nation and brought on the bloodshed. Greer had not thought twice about joining the fight, considering his grandfather had been one of the defenders of Fort McHenry during the War of 1812 and his great-grandfather had fought in the Revolution. Greers always had fought for the United States of America.

However, the embarrassing defeat of the Union army at Bull Run had been his first and last taste of war. His wound had put him out of the army for good. Greer had happily returned to his old job on the railroad. He had been a brakeman and engineer before the war broke out, and his war service, brief though it had been, had soon brought him a promotion to conductor.

"Tickets, please!" he repeated. Greer was friendly in an officious way as he passed through the car. He puffed out his chest as he paraded the aisles in his blue conductor's uniform with its bright, brass buttons. It was as fancy as any general's uniform. He nodded at the men, tipped his hat to the women.

His eye lingered longer than usual on the couple who occupied the last seat. The two had come aboard at Mount Clare Station in Baltimore with tickets for Cumberland, a tall, muscular man with a pretty young woman on his arm. They wore flashy clothes — the man a bowler hat with a red silk tie at his neck, the woman wearing a wide hoop skirt that rustled with expensive crinoline petticoats. The front of the dress was cut low enough to reveal the milky white tops of her breasts, and the silk fabric was a bright, racy green — hardly the sort of clothes most women wore for traveling. They had the look of people who had worn their best clothes and were flaunting their finery like peacocks. Greer sensed they were trouble as soon as he laid eyes on them.

The man caught Greer studying him and returned the look with a taunting stare. He had a tough face, Greer decided, hard black eyes and oiled, dark hair. Everything about him was cocky. Greer had seen his kind often enough in the gangs of toughs known as Plug Uglies who hung around the wharves in Baltimore. Troublemakers. The city was full of thieves and copperheads who sympathized with the Confederate cause.

"Do you have your ticket, sir?" Greer asked. He could have moved on, but he didn't like the way the man was sneering at him.

"You ought to know," the man muttered. "You checked it yourself back in Baltimore.”

Greer didn't like surly passengers. He wasn't having any nonsense on his train. He did not move, but stood waiting in the aisle, and the passenger knew well enough it was the conductor's right to check tickets because the train stopped at every station and new people were constantly coming aboard. He thrust the ticket at the conductor.

Greer gave the piece of paper a long look, then handed it back. "Thank you, sir."

He walked on, feeling the man's eyes boring into his back. Greer wasn't afraid of anybody, but he also knew it wasn't his job to pick fights with the passengers. The B&O didn't pay him for that. Still, it didn't mean he couldn't put an uppity passenger in his place.

He opened the back door of the car and stepped out onto the platform where the wind blew with sudden force. Clamping his round conductor's cap onto his head with one hand, he crossed to the next car and went in. As soon as the conductor shut the door behind him, the woman in the green dress whispered harshly to her companion, "Charlie, what are you trying to do, ruin the whole plan?"

"The son of a bitch was giving me a hard look, Nellie."

The woman shook her head angrily. "We're here to ride the train, Charlie Gilmore. That's all. We want to get a feel for it. We need to learn the routine. Next time we ride this train you can shoot that conductor if you want, but for now you'd better smile at him. Don't cause trouble."

"Don't tell me what to do," the man said, raising his voice just enough that he attracted the attention of the other passengers. He glared at them until they looked away.

Nellie leaned close so that only he could hear what she said. She smiled as she spoke, although her low voice was cold and steely. "Behave or I'll put a knife in your ribs and save that conductor the trouble of putting you off at the next station."

"You'd do it, too, wouldn't you, Nell?"

In answer, he felt the sharp point of a blade between his ribs. One thrust and the steel would bury itself deep in his heart. He held himself very still. A man could never be sure what Nellie Jones would do next. She was a dangerous woman. Crazy, some said. At the moment, he had to agree.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the knife vanished into the sleeve of her dress. No one else had seen because Nellie was pressed up close against him. Anyone watching would think they were lovers.

He forced a laugh to show he hadn't been afraid. "You wouldn't stab me, now would you, Nell?"

"I want to be rich," she whispered. "And you're not going to stop me. Now sit up straight and act proper."

The door to the car opened again and the conductor reappeared. He gave the couple from Baltimore a quick glance and continued down the aisle.

Gilmore watched the conductor closely. "He's damn full of himself," he grumbled. "The man runs a train and acts like he owns the world. He must think he’s a general instead of a two-bit railroad conductor.”

Beside him, Nellie squeezed his arm. "You just wait," she said. "If we pull this off you can buy your own goddamn train."