Rebel Train: A Civil War Novel

Chapter 25

"Full throttle, Wilson, full throttle," Percy said calmly as the train swept out over the Potomac River.

"Yes, sir," the engineer said. "Looks clear so far."

Chocolate-brown water swirled fifty feet beneath the Harpers Ferry bridge, the current making a creamy froth around the pilings. Autumn wind whistled across the open rivers. Where the tracks had been surrounded by foothills and dense woods, all that fell away as the train reached the open expanse of the Potomac. Two rivers converged near this point, and to their left was the wide Shenandoah River. Directly ahead was the town of Harpers Ferry, built on the bluff overlooking both the Potomac and Shenandoah.

Had the raiders been in the mood for sight-seeing, they might have noticed the incredible scenery. In fact, none other than Thomas Jefferson had once said it was worth crossing the Atlantic just for the majestic view from the bluff. However, the raiders kept one eye on the tracks ahead, and another on the bluff above the river for the first blast of smoke and flame that would mean Union artillery had targeted the train.

"Don't stop no matter what they put on the tracks," Percy said, leaning in close to the engineer to be heard over the wind. "Our only chance is to bull right through no matter what they throw at us. If we can get across the river and through town, nothing can stop us."

The Chesapeake roared across with a speed that startled the Yankee sentries, which was just what Percy intended. He knew it wasn't much of a strategy, Percy knew, but sometimes a cavalryman knew all he could do was ride like hell. This was one of those times — only now, his horse was made of iron.

Beneath them, the brown water was deep enough to swallow the engine and cars without a trace if a cannonball derailed them. Percy glanced down again at the churning water far below and felt a hollow pit of his stomach. He could swim, but he had a feeling it wouldn't matter. No one would survive that treacherous current if the train plunged off the tracks.

Then, as suddenly as they had swept onto it, they were across the bridge and on land again. Percy thought it was a small miracle. The second miracle was that the Yankees hadn't opposed them.

They roared through town. Curious faces turned toward them as they rushed between the brick buildings and white clapboard houses. It was a prosperous town, in spite of changing hands so many times during the war.

Percy could see they had taken the Yankees completely by surprise. No one was expecting a train stolen by Confederate raiders. The tracks were wide open. As they reached the limits of the small town, he knew nothing could stop them. They would go on through West Virginia, the pro-Union state which had only recently split away from Virginia. The train would parallel the winding Potomac again just east of Hancock, then race on toward the Shenandoah Valley.

Percy laughed as the dwellings became more sparse. The town fell away and they entered a country filled with rolling foothills and naked trees as the tracks swung away from the winding Potomac. Later, they would meet the river again.

He wanted to get back across the Potomac before dusk. It did not help that these November days were short. Already, the sun was edging toward the tops of the hills. Shadows flickered past and the bare branches of the trees groped and scratched at the train.

"Colonel?" Hank Cunningham interrupted his thoughts. Percy turned. He immediately noticed the look of concern on the fireman's ash-stained face. "What is it?"

"Look."

A smoke trail stabbed the sky behind them. It had not been there a few minutes before, and Percy wondered how any train could have caught up to them at the speed they were traveling. He hadn't seen any other locomotives in Harpers Ferry.

"That engine on the siding back there in Maryland, Colonel," Wilson said, answering Percy's unspoken question. "She's come after us. She looked to be fast."

Of course. That must be it. Percy cursed their luck, that just when it seemed all they had to do was get across West Virginia before dark, they now had to do it with Yankee pursuers on their heels.

Percy wondered if it was the Chesapeake's conductor who was still chasing them. If it was, the man was damned persistent. He had latched on like a bulldog and wouldn't let go. Remembering the stout conductor in his blue uniform, it seemed a good comparison. Why wouldn't the conductor give up? Did he know Lincoln was aboard? Percy decided it wasn't likely. The conductor was probably just stubborn. Percy had run into a few stubborn Yankees during the war, and the smarter ones had all been dangerous.

Wilson and Cunningham were watching him, awaiting an order.

"Run her wide open," Percy said. "Wring every bit of speed out of her that you can."

"What about a stop, Colonel? We need to take on wood and water at some point."

"Goddamnit, Wilson!" Percy shouted in exasperation. "We can't stop now. That engine back there would be on us in a few minutes if we did."

"Yankees on our tail or not, Colonel, we'll have to take on wood and water soon, or we'll be walking to Virginia."

"I know that," Percy snapped. "And we will stop. But we at least have to reach the next depot, don't we?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where would that be?"

"I reckon that would be Kearneysville, sir. It's about ten miles from where we are now."

"Then let's run like hell till we get there."

They raced on toward the Shenandoah Valley, glancing anxiously over their shoulders as they worked, trying to make the locomotive run as fast as possible.

Damn, but she's fast, thought Percy, watching the smoke from the oncoming train. She's too damn fast.

Aboard the Lord Baltimore, blue-coated soldiers clung tightly to the tender as the train raced out onto the iron span of the Harpers Ferry bridge. Below them, the brown river moved like a smooth, tense muscle, powerful and deep, nothing at all like the "Muddy Monocacy" they guarded. They held on as the wind off the open water of the twin rivers buffeted them and tried to loosen their grip on the tender. Several lost their hats. They let them go without making any move to stop them, afraid they, too, might spin away into the river below unless they held onto the train for dear life.

"Blow the whistle," Greer ordered. "Clear the tracks ahead."

Schmidt gave three warning blasts on the whistle. On the far bank, a curious crowd had gathered to watch the engine cross the bridge. The first speeding train had caught them by surprise. Now, at the sight of a second racing train, people had come to see what all the excitement was about. Greer didn't want them getting too close to the track. So far, no one had made an effort to block his way. After all, the Union officers expected trouble out of the west, which was where the Confederates still had a stronghold. They would not be looking east, toward the heart of Maryland, which was firmly in Union hands, even if the hearts of all the state's inhabitants were not.

This was a fast engine. The fastest Greer had ever seen. The Lord Baltimore was also fully loaded with coal and water. So long as she didn't break down, here on her maiden trip, there was nothing that could stop them. They roared across the final section of bridge and entered Harpers Ferry at break-neck speed.

Captain Lowell saw it first. Greer was too busy keeping an eye on the tracks ahead.

"Greer," Lowell cried. He was pointing. "Look!"

Greer saw it then. Smoke in the sky ahead.

"That's them, all right." He laughed. "We've got them now, boys!"

It could only be the Chesapeake. Greer knew instinctively now what the Rebel raiders were doing: running for the Shenandoah Valley. So that was it, he thought. The raiders wanted the payroll money — maybe for the Rebel government, maybe for themselves — and they were running for the safety of the valley, where there would be Confederate cavalry to help them.

Greer knew he could catch them before they reached safety. He knew it because his old leg wound throbbed in the same way it did before a big snow or rain. It was a sign of things to come. The Rebels were like a scent in his nose. Now Greer knew what a hound felt like when it smelled the fox — and ran it down.

Fletcher wanted to see the money again, but he had heard Colonel Percy order Flynn not to let anyone into the baggage car. Fletcher had no doubt the Irishman would welcome an excuse to shoot him, so he left the money alone. Instead, he wandered into the passenger car ahead, where he found Hazlett and Cook lounging on the benches. They were smoking cigars confiscated from the passengers.

Hazlett got to his feet and saluted. Cook did the same. "Captain, sir," Hazlett said.

Fletcher had noticed that, unlike the others, Hazlett always gave him the respect due an officer. He caught himself standing straighter and throwing back his shoulders. Still, the captain didn't waste time with small talk. He decided it was unbecoming an officer. "You saw the money?" he asked Hazlett. There was no need to explain which money he was talking about.

"Yes, sir."

"How much was there?"

"Thousands and thousands, Captain, from the the looks of it," Hazlett said. He raised an eyebrow and the scar on his face danced, as if it had a mind of its own. "You mean you ain't been back to count it?"

"The Colonel told Flynn to shoot anyone who tries to go in there."

Anger flashed across Hazlett's face, making his scar flare like a fire brand. "That goddamn Paddy! He'll do just what the colonel tells him, too, like a good dog would." Hazlett managed to calm himself, and a sly light came into his eyes. "Why, all things considered, sir, you would think Flynn might show you some respect. And that Colonel Percy would, too."

Fletcher was heartened to hear the implied criticism of the colonel. "Percy doesn't want the money touched," he said lamely.

Hazlett snorted. "He wouldn't, would he? The colonel has all the money he wants. He's a rich man back home. It's all well and good for him to say, 'Leave the money alone, boys,' when he's already got his own." Hazlett leaned close and lowered his voice. Fletcher could smell whiskey on his breath, even though Percy had forbidden any drinking during the raid. "What we should do, Captain, is take that money and skedaddle. All of us. We can leave this whole damn war behind, every one of us a rich man."

Fletcher realized he was on dangerous ground, that Hazlett must be testing him somehow. At the same time, he knew he had found a kindred spirit on this raid. He, too, thought they should take the money, abandon the raid, and count themselves lucky.

Not that he didn't have his doubts and sense of obligation. After all, Colonel Norris had sent him to make certain the raid went as it should. Back in Richmond, he had served Norris well. At the same time, he knew he was nothing more than Norris's underling. Norris would never treat him as an equal. What other choice did Fletcher have but to do whatever Norris said? Flynn could act arrogantly and get away with it because he was just a low-born Irishman. If he fell, there wasn't far to fall. Fletcher didn't have that luxury because he held a certain position in society. But without money, or a sense of bravado, he relied on other skills to get ahead.

It was also true that Norris — like Percy — was a member of the Southern aristocracy. He was educated and wealthy. He could afford to turn his back on a fortune in Yankee money in favor of duty. But could Fletcher? Hazlett's words had taken root.

"What about Lincoln?" Fletcher asked. "We're to bring him to Richmond."

Hazlett shrugged. "We shoot Honest Abe, and that's the end of that. Way I see it, we done our duty."

Fletcher realized he had walked into the middle of a mutiny in the making. As an officer, he knew he should denounce the plot and warn Percy, but he couldn't bring himself to walk out. It wasn't that he didn't believe in honor and duty. It was just that he believed in money even more. He wanted to be rich. Fletcher believed money was the only thing that would put him on an equal footing with men like Norris and Percy.

"All right, there's Percy," Hazlett said. "We know he ain't goin' to see it our way."

"Anybody else with us?" Cook asked.

"Forbes will be. He may be a drunk, but he ain't no fool," Hazlett said. "And he's up on the locomotive, which might be helpful when the time comes."

"Now who's against us?" Cook asked.

Hazlett thought a moment. "Cephas Wilson and Hank Cunningham are busy drivin' this here train. They already got their hands full. That leaves Flynn and the kid, Johnny Benjamin. Flynn ain't as tough as he looks and Benjamin, hell, he ain't hardly more than a boy. That fat man almost squashed him."

"He did shoot one of the passengers," Fletcher pointed out.

"It ain't so hard to kill a man." Fletcher noticed Hazlett had stopped calling him "sir."

"What about Pettibone and Hudson?" Cook asked. "You think they might see things our way?"

"They ain't goin' along with us, if that's what you mean," Hazlett said. "They're too loyal to the colonel. Right now, they're guarding Lincoln. We'll just have to deal with them last."

Fletcher remembered the wounded lieutenant and the passenger who had volunteered to nurse him.http://www.delmarvalegends.com/Delmarva_Legends/Welcome.html" What about Lieutenant Cater and the woman?"

"Cater's half dead and we can finish the job easy enough. Hell, back home he's almost as rich as Percy." Hazlett grinned wickedly. "The woman? Why, Captain, I reckon you can pull rank and take her. She does look like a juicy piece. 'Course, Cook and me might want her when you're through. Serious now, you can have her, Captain, just as long as I get Flynn. Nobody else can kill that bastard. He's mine."

Fletcher felt an odd excitement. When he mentioned the woman, it hadn't been to do the things Hazlett hinted at. But then again, why couldn't he have her? To the victor went the spoils. This was war, after all. He felt like a new man, taking what he wanted: money, women, freedom.

Hazlett handed him a flask of whiskey. "Drink on it," he said.

Fletcher drank. There was no going back now. He knew he was in this thing to the end.