Rebel Train: A Civil War Novel

Chapter 21

George Greer hurried on, his bad leg aching with each step. The more pain there was, the harder he pushed himself, refusing to let his leg slow him down.

The soldiers had been garrisoned at the Monocacy River for so long, guarding the bridge, that they were no longer in condition for marching at Greer’s driven pace. The soldiers started out confidently enough, but as one mile became two became three, their enthusiasm waned. Greer had to keep looking over his shoulder and waving the soldiers on because they weren't keeping up.

"I don't know about this, Greer," the captain muttered, coming up close, out of earshot of his men. "There's no sign of your train."

"We'll catch her, all right," Greer said. "She'll likely be around the next bend."

Captain Lowell shook his head. "I doubt that. They've got an awfully good lead on us, Greer. Hell, there ain't even a sign of them."

"Then what do you call that?" Greer pointed toward the horizon.

Lowell squinted. "Hell, what's that? Smoke? By God, Greer, if they're that far ahead of us, we might as well turn around. We're never going to catch them. Not on foot, at least."

Captain Lowell stopped, and his men, glad for a break, shuffled to a halt.

Greer stood a little apart, clenching and unclenching his fists. His leg throbbed. He felt his stomach rumble and realized that because the raiders had interrupted his breakfast, he'd had nothing to eat all day but a couple of cold biscuits and some coffee back at Mount Clare station in Baltimore, long before dawn. He wasn't sure what to do, now that Captain Lowell was getting cold feet. Frost and Schmidt stood nearby, watching the two men. They, too, had sensed that Captain Lowell and his men now thought the chase was hopeless and didn't want to go any further. Greer knew he had reached a critical moment and that the chase was about to end unless he did something drastic.

He would go on, with or without them. He vowed to chase the bastards who had stolen his train to hell and back if necessary. Frost and Schmidt would come along. As conductor, they did as he told them. Even if they refused, Greer was determined to bully them into it.

Captain Lowell was another matter. Even a B&O Railroad conductor held no power over a Union officer. Besides, Greer knew well enough that the captain's duty was to protect the Monocacy River crossing, not chase train thieves. Greer had been a soldier just long enough before being wounded at Bull Run to know that an officer was best off following orders. Nothing more, nothing less.

Greer decided to take a chance. He needed the captain and the soldiers if he was going to stop the train thieves. He clenched his fists at his sides and looked the captain in the face, then raised his voice so the soldiers nearby could hear clearly: "You're a damned coward, Captain."

Captain Lowell could not have looked more surprised if the conductor had slapped him. "What did you say?"

Greer took a deep breath. "I called you a goddamn coward. You and your men."

Lowell reddened. "Look here, Mr. Greer— "

Greer raised his voice even louder to make certain all the soldiers could hear him. "You're scared of what might happen when we catch up to these train thieves. Scared. Scared they might turn out to have guns and that there might be a fight. Hell, most of you are conscripts who ain't worth a drink of piss. I reckon now I know why they set you to guarding a railroad bridge in the middle of nowhere." Greer sneered at them, then looked at Frost and Schmidt. "Come on, let's go."

Then Greer turned to leave.

"Wait!"

The captain took the bait. Greer spun to face him. Beyond Captain Lowell, the eyes of his men snapped with anger. No man can stand being accused of cowardice.

The captain himself was so enraged his voice shook, and he was obviously struggling to keep it under control. "You have no right to speak to me that way, Greer. I am a Union officer."

"Then act like one. The three of us are going after those train thieves. You can come or not."

Greer turned again and started off. He said a silent prayer that the soldiers would follow him. He had walked twenty feet when he finally heard the captain curse, then bark out an order. The boots of twenty men on the move behind him was music to his ears.

"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 was 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.