Rebel Train: A Civil War Novel

Chapter 4

“Forbes has got to be here somewhere," Colonel Arthur Percy said.

"Last time I seen him was on this street with that woman," Bill Hazlett replied, then leaned over to spit tobacco juice. "Ugly bitch. Tits like a goat."

"You see, boys, I told you women are nothing but trouble," Percy said, lecturing the small band of soldiers who walked with him down one of Richmond's most wretched streets.

"You would know, wouldn't you, Colonel?" asked Hazlett, a tall, evil-looking man with a nasty scar under his right cheekbone. He smiled, revealing long, unevenly spaced teeth that resembled fangs. Sergeant's stripes slashed across the arm of his tattered Confederate uniform.

The others laughed and Percy joined in, even though Hazlett’s comments irritated him. Hazlett had a way of making salty remarks that marched right up to the edge of blatant. Most officers would not have tolerated insubordinate talk from a mere sergeant, but Hazlett was family, more or less. He was capable enough as a sergeant, but the real reason he wore stripes was because he was married — badly — to one of Percy's cousins. Twice the poor woman had shown up at the Percys' big house with bruises and a black eye. There might even have been trouble between Percy and Hazlett if the war hadn't broken out.

It was hard to pull rank on your cousin-in-law. Most of the time, Percy tried to treat Hazlett like an equal. The last thing he needed was a feud from back home to haunt them now. Still, he suspected that Hazlett despised him behind his back.

It did not help that Percy's recently ended affair with a prominent general's young wife was still feeding the gossip mills of Richmond. Everyone expected a duel as soon as the hot-headed general returned to the capital. The colonel had a nonchalant attitude toward all the talk. A Yankee bullet or the general's— it was all the same to him.

"Do as I say, but not as I do," Percy added in a fatherly tone when the laughter died away. "A truly wise man — wiser than any of you, at least — learns from the mistakes of others, not his own."

"Hell, Colonel, a wise man would have made damn sure her husband didn't find out," a soldier named John Cook said, and once more the group erupted in laughter.

Percy laughed with them. Even though he was an officer, he had been with these men too long for anything but an easy familiarity. He had even grown up with a few of them. They would all be neighbors again back home, if they survived the war.

Percy was thirty-five years old, sandy haired and blue-eyed. Every inch of his lean, six-foot frame looked the part of Southern hero. He was one of those dashing men the South had a gift for producing: a cavalier at home on horseback, who rode with a sword in one hand and a revolver in the other. He could shoot, he could ride, and he wasn't afraid of anything or anyone — especially not the Yankees who had invaded his homeland.

Percy didn't like regular soldiering with its "Yes sirs" and "No sirs" and gallant charges into the mouths of cannons. Percy liked playing the fox. Outsmarting Yankees. Beating the odds. His raids behind Yankee lines had made him famous when accounts of his deeds had appeared in newspapers in the North and South. Then his luck began to run out. A Yankee bullet had put him in a Richmond hospital.

It was in the Confederate capital that Percy had met the general's wife. She had been his undoing, a raven-haired, green-eyed beauty too young to be safely left alone while her older and esteemed husband was off leading his troops in Mississippi. The general was a violent and jealous man, and society as a whole did not approve of men who seduced wives while their husbands were away doing their duty and serving the Confederacy.

Percy had already been threatened by several of the general's friends in Richmond, and was almost shot outright by one of them, until his lover had interfered. Percy expected he would have to fight a duel when the general returned to Richmond, and it was a duel Percy might not win because the general was known as a particularly vengeful bastard.

Not that Percy gave a damn either way. What really mattered was that few general officers wanted him in their units after such a scandal, including his old commander, who had already sent Percy a terse note declining his services. Percy waited to be reassigned to some unit, somewhere. Meanwhile, he found there was never a dull moment for a soldier on leave in Richmond.

A few people stared from the doorways as Percy and his ragtag band passed. This was a rough part of the city and any one of the soldiers alone might have been in danger. But the seven together were a tough-looking and battle-hardened bunch, lean as a pack of wolves. Heavy revolvers hung in holsters at their sides, the iron and leather looking worn as a workman's well-used tools.

Five of the men wore threadbare cavalry uniforms, the gray fabric stained with sweat, dirt and blood. Percy's uniform had the golden "chicken guts" braiding of an officer reaching above the elbows of his uniform coat while another man, Silas Cater, wore the less ornate insignia of a lieutenant.

In addition to Lieutenant Cater and Hazlett, there was a tall, whip-thin man named Douglas Pettibone who wore the double stripes of a corporal. John Cook was also a corporal. Private Johnny Benjamin, who was hardly more than a boy, was on furlough after being released from the hospital. Although he wasn't part of their old regiment, some of the other men had taken the boy under wing.

The seventh man in the group wore no weapon or uniform. He was Percy's servant, a huge black man named Hudson. At six feet, four inches tall, he was the biggest member of the group, powerfully built, and his dark, African face answered the stares from the doorways with an open defiance that made even these unsavory Richmond residents look away.

Hazlett came to a stop and nodded at a ramshackle dwelling a few doors ahead. "This is the place."

Percy made a disapproving noise. "You would think Forbes could have done better," he said.

"He was drunk, sir," explained Corporal Pettibone, who also had been with Forbes the night he disappeared.

"When isn't he drunk?" Percy pointed out.

As a soldier, Willie Forbes functioned well enough even when he was awash with liquor, and he always managed to get away with things that a sober man couldn't. Only this time he'd gone on a binge in Richmond's seedier streets, which were not kind to drunken soldiers. So his comrades had gone to rescue him, or what was left of Forbes after a two-day drunk with rotgut whiskey and a cheap whore.

Percy took charge. He felt responsible. The five cavalrymen were on furlough from the regiment and had come to Richmond to visit their colonel just out of the hospital — and to have a good time with the ample food, liquor and women the city had to offer. It was the last two temptations that had landed Forbes in trouble. As for Percy, he had already recovered from the minié bullet that had pierced his upper arm and had found his own difficulties in the form of the general's wife. Richmond was a city of sin and decadence, as far as he could tell. He was eager to return to the war.

"That's the place, sir," said Pettibone, who had seen Forbes disappear with the woman on his arm.

Percy sighed. "Bastard will have the pox," he muttered.

They were looking at a shabby, two-story house that was hardly fifteen feet wide. The gray, unpainted clapboards had long since splintered and cracked, and the whole house, like many others on the street, gave the impression that it might blow down in the next strong wind.

Hazlett leaned over and spat. “Ain’t much of a place.”

“All right," Percy said. "Let's go get him."

Percy shoved open the door. A thickset man was sitting inside at a table, and he blinked up in surprise at the sudden appearance of the tall officer in his doorway.

"What the hell—”

As the man started to get up, Percy put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down.

"Where is he?" Percy asked, keeping the man pinned firmly in his chair. A cunning look came into the man's eyes. "Who?"

It was not the answer Percy wanted. He nodded at the doorway and suddenly the room filled with soldiers. John Cook stayed outside to serve as a lookout. Percy crinkled his nose. The whole place stank of stale liquor, lamp fumes and sweat.

"Shut the door," Percy ordered. "We don't want the provost guard in here causing trouble. That is, if they even bother to patrol this part of the city."

"Who are you?" blustered the man at the table as he struggled to get up. Hudson went over and held the man's other shoulder and a look of genuine fear crossed his face at the powerful grip of the black man's hands. He strained one last time, then gave up.

"Never mind who we are," Percy said. “We just want our friend back."

The proprietor of the flophouse nodded toward a back room. "He's in there, if it's that little scrub of a cavalryman you're lookin' for."

Percy turned to Sergeant Hazlett. "Get him."

Hazlett disappeared into the back room. There was the sound of a woman cursing, and they heard a man moaning in pain.

"Leave me be," he groaned. "I want to die here, in my true love's arms."

"You dumb son of a bitch," Hazlett growled. "Put your damn clothes on."

Hazlett soon emerged, shoving a half-dressed Forbes in front of him. A slattern of a woman followed them out. She looked as drunk as Forbes, her hair greasy and tangled. She had managed to get just one arm into a sleeve of her dress. One breast hung out, a gray, lumpen thing with a nipple the color of old leather.

"Jesus," Percy heard one of the men gasp at the sight of her.

"You can have him," the whore said, plucking at the dress and finally succeeding in covering herself. She slurred her words. "No-good bastard's a drunk. Nothin' but a no-good drunk soldier!"

She swayed, then collapsed into a chair at the same table where the proprietor of the house sat.

"How many in here?" Percy asked.

"She's downstairs. Two upstairs," the man replied.

Forbes was so drunk he could only fumble with his buttons as if his fingers were thick as sausages. Pettibone went over and helped him. Forbes's uniform was in an awful state: muddy, wrinkled, and reeking of whiskey. A dried crust of what appeared to be vomit clung to one sleeve.

"Colonel," Forbes said, and attempted a salute. He reeled and nearly fell over.

"Forbes, you are a sorry excuse for a soldier," Percy said. "And your taste in women leaves something to be desired. Now let's go."

"He owes me ten dollars for the whiskey he drank," the proprietor said, then jerked his head toward the awful-looking woman. "And for her."

Percy shrugged. "Very well. Hud, pay the man."

Hudson drove a massive fist into the fat man's belly. The man's breath rushed out and he collapsed on the floor and lay there gasping like a huge, bloated fish. The whore shrieked. In the tiny room, the noise was like a shell exploding.

"Let's go, boys, just in case that fool has friends in the neighborhood," Percy said. "Frank and Johnny, prop Forbes up in between you there and make him walk. That'll sober him up. Does he have anything left in his pockets?"

"They picked him clean, sir."

"Come on, then."

They went back the way they had come as quickly as they could. It was not a good neighborhood in which to linger because Percy's concerns about the flophouse proprietor's friends were not without good reason. Also, Percy didn't want any trouble with the Richmond provost guard because he knew well enough that many of Richmond's more important citizens who would like nothing better than a good excuse to put him in jail — at least until the general could shoot him.

"I reckon you had yourself a good time, Willie," Hazlett said as he helped half-drag, half-carry Forbes along the muddy street. "We went to a lot of goddamn trouble to find you."

"Good thing you was drunk," Pettibone chipped in. "She was powerful ugly."

Forbes staggered along under the abuse of his comrades. "You can say what you want, boys, but she was a fine woman. Hell, I might just marry her!"

"Ain't you already married?"

"Why, I reckon I am, boys. Promise me you won't tell my wife?"

They were all laughing so hard that they almost didn't notice the officer and two soldiers standing in the street ahead, directly in their path. Percy squinted, trying to see who it was, but he didn’t recognize the man. The group came to a stop and watched the officer expectantly.

"Excuse me," the officer said. His stern voice and immaculate uniform could only mean trouble. Although he was just a captain, only an officer of some importance on one of Richmond's administrative staffs would have such a splendid uniform. Dandy was the word that came to Percy's mind.

"Damn headquarters peacock," Hazlett muttered, loud enough for the officer to hear.

"Can I help you?" Percy asked. He eyed the officer warily. Although they had reached a better part of town where several bands of soldiers roamed the street, the captain appeared to have been waiting just for them. Not a good sign. Percy wondered if he was being arrested.

"Are you Colonel Arthur Percy?"

"Yes. What can I do for you?"

"I am Captain Fletcher. You are to come with me. Colonel Norris's orders." Fletcher sniffed, then added, "Sir."

Percy thought quickly. He had never heard of any Colonel Norris. Not that it mattered. As a field officer, Percy knew well enough that he was nearly ignorant of Richmond's military bureaucracy. That was just the way he liked it.

Colonel Norris, whoever he was, must be a man of some importance if he sent well-dressed fools like this arrogant captain to run his errands. At any rate, the summons did not appear to include his men, a fact for which Percy was grateful. He didn't know what this was about, but it couldn't be good.

"All right, Fletcher, lead the way," Percy said. "Hudson, you come with me. I'll see you men later. See that you stay out of trouble."

Captain Fletcher looked Hudson up and down, making no effort to hide his displeasure. "Who is this darkie?"

"He's my servant and he goes where I go," Percy said. "And that reminds me, Fletcher. Isn't it customary for a captain to salute a colonel? Or don't you bother with that sort of thing in Richmond?"

Fletcher's eyes filled with sudden venom. It was obvious the well-groomed captain thought it beneath him to salute a ragged colonel.

"Very well, Colonel." Fletcher managed a half-hearted salute.

Percy smiled. "Lead on, Captain Fletcher."