Rebel Train: A Civil War Novel

Chapter 9

Percy's men were waiting at dawn when the Chesapeake steamed into town.

Earlier, they had seen another train come through — just a locomotive and tender. The locomotive had slowed, but had not stopped. The station master had come out to watch it pass.

"That's the Lord Baltimore,” the man said, admiring the locomotive. He lifted a hand in greeting and the engineer waved back. "She just came out of the factory and she's on her maiden run."

"Where's the passenger train?" Percy asked.

"Should be along any minute now," the station master said, consulting a large, gold pocket watch. "She always runs right on time."

The new locomotive disappeared, and the raiders stood around in the crisp morning air. They could hear the train long before it arrived in Ellicott Mills. Finally, it came into sight, huffing clouds of smoke as it followed the bend in the Patapsco River and slowed for the station. It was a short train, only made up of the locomotive, a tender car loaded with firewood, two passenger cars, a baggage car and a fourth, private car at the rear.

"Don't look like much," Pettibone muttered.

"Sure, and that's just what the Yankees want you to think," Flynn said. "Did you think they'd have flags flapping and trumpets blowing? Lincoln is traveling in secret, don't forget."

Nearby, Hazlett hawked and spat to show what he thought of Flynn's opinions.

Percy was in no mood to listen to anyone's speculations. "Shut up and pay attention," he grumbled at his men. "It's all about to begin."

Willie Forbes moved toward the tracks for a better look. He wasn't watching where he was going and bumped right into Flynn. Briefly, he got tangled in Flynn's long coat.

"Steady, lad," Flynn said, catching a sniff of stale whiskey. "What you need is a drink."

Forbes laughed nervously and moved away.

The train, glinting in the dawn light, looked no different from the others that had passed through town the previous day. Certainly, it wasn't as fancy as the Lord Baltimore. Percy felt a nagging doubt. Was the Yankee president really on board? He couldn't help but wonder if Norris, back in his office in Richmond, hadn't made some mistake and sent them all on a perilous journey into enemy territory for no good reason.

Whatever misgivings Percy felt, he couldn't reveal any doubts in front of his men. They had come too far for that. He squared his shoulders and turned to the raiders gathered on the platform. They stood a little apart from the half dozen other passengers waiting to catch the train. Behind Percy, the train rolled closer and a ripple of wind carried the smell of grease, smoke and iron toward them.

"Remember," Percy spoke in a harsh, urgent voice. "Don't get on in a bunch. Mix yourselves in with the other passengers and use both cars."

Flynn was first in line, and he made sure Benjamin was second. The boy might be full of bravado when it came to threatening to shoot Yankees, but he was also a farm boy who didn't know the first thing about being a passenger on a train.

"Follow me, lad," Flynn said quietly. "Let the conductor punch your ticket, then we'll find a seat."

Finally, the train coasted to a stop in front of the station with a burst of steam and a squeal of brakes. Flynn practically had to pull Benjamin up the steps after him.

"Come on, lad," he said, and led the way through the car to an empty seat.

Flynn glanced around at his fellow passengers. Much to his relief, there were few young men and no Union uniforms. They would be better off without any hot-blooded heroes. Mostly the car was filled with white-haired gentlemen whose folded hands rested securely on their paunches, and matronly women who held baskets of food for the trip.

The exception was a couple across the aisle from where he and Benjamin sat. The woman was slim, dark, and pretty, and the man was dressed in flashy clothes like a gambler. The dandy's arms and broad shoulders strained against the fabric of the suit, which looked to be a size too small for him, and he had a crooked nose that had been broken at some point and badly set.

Flynn had dealt with enough riffraff in Richmond to know the fellow wasn't any businessman, and the woman wasn't any lady in the proper sense. They would bear watching, Flynn decided.

He swiveled in his seat to look around. Pettibone and Fletcher were two seats behind him, and their eyes met his, then glanced away. Cephas Wilson, the engineer, was already in conversation with a portly gentleman. Percy was the last of the raiders to board, and he appeared in the car's doorway and casually walked up the aisle, nodding to Flynn and Benjamin in the same way he nodded to everyone else on the train.

Hudson was nowhere in sight. Maryland might be part of the Union, but that didn't mean a black man could travel with the white passengers. He was riding in the baggage car. The rest of the raiders were in the other passenger car.

"This ain't what I expected," Benjamin grumbled in a low voice. "I thought there would be soldiers around, not old men and ladies. I don't want to kill none of them, even if they are Yankees."

"The longer it takes to pull a gun on this train, the better off we'll be," Flynn muttered in reply. He didn't tell the boy, but he was sure they would have a lot more than old men and ladies to worry about before the day was through.

Aside from Percy's men, only a few passengers got on at the station. Soon, the train lurched forward, and the locomotive up ahead emitted a powerful chug. The noise came faster and faster. Before long the scenery of Ellicott Mills was slipping by and cinders from the smokestack began to clink against the window glass like sleet.

Well, thought Flynn. It's begun.

The door of the car opened, and the conductor walked in. He was a bulldog of a man, of average height and stout through the middle. His blue B&O uniform was crisp and the brass buttons gleamed. It made Flynn painfully aware of his own somewhat ragged state after the headlong journey from Richmond.

"Tickets, please," the conductor announced, and began to make his way down the aisle. He took his time, checking tickets, nodding officiously, and answering questions. Flynn recalled the dark car that held Lincoln at the end of the train. How could the man be so calm knowing such an important passenger was aboard?

He doesn't know, Flynn realized. Oh, that's lovely for us.

The conductor was soon at their seat. Beside him, Flynn felt Benjamin go stiff as a bird dog. He touched the boy's knee to calm him.

"Tickets," the conductor said, and Flynn handed over both his own and Benjamin's. The man looked from the tickets to the two men in the seat. "Cumberland. Well. Not many folks headed that way in these times. You hardly know from one day to the next whether it's a Union city or Confederate."

"Let's hope it's Union at the moment," Flynn said. "I've had my fill of fighting those damn Rebs."

Beside him, Benjamin stiffened. Flynn prodded him with the toe of his boot.

"You're a veteran, are you?" the conductor asked with sudden interest.

"Took a bullet at Gettysburg on the third day," Flynn said. "Now that I'm out of the hospital down there to Washington City, I'm on my way to visit my people."

The conductor nodded sympathetically. "I took my bullet at First Bull Run," he said. "That was enough of the war for me. I've been running trains since then."

As he handed back the tickets, the conductor stopped and scowled.

"I don't allow drinking on my train," he said gruffly and loudly enough for the other passengers to hear. "Veteran or not, I don't play favorites."

Startled, Flynn realized the conductor was staring at the neck of a pint bottle of whiskey poking from his coat pocket. Flynn had no idea how the bottle had gotten there. As the conductor moved on with a disapproving air, Flynn felt Colonel Percy's eyes upon him. He looked up and met Percy's angry glare. The colonel had forbidden any drinking — they were soldiers on duty — and the steely eyes held a promise of wrath to come. Besides, the whiskey bottle had attracted unnecessary attention to Flynn.

He was still stumped as to how it had appeared in his pocket. And then he remembered Willie Forbes bumping into him on the station platform. Of course! It was an old pickpocket's trick, only Forbes had used it to put something in Flynn's pocket, not steal something out of it.

Why would Forbes do that?

Hazlett. He must have put Forbes up to it. Forbes would do anything the sergeant told him. Pettibone had warned him Hazlett was a sly bastard. From now on, Flynn knew he would have to watch his back.

Flynn noticed the conductor had nothing but an unfriendly look for the dandy across the aisle. "You again," Flynn overheard the conductor saying to the man. "I remember you from last month. I won't trouble you about your tickets this time."

As the conductor moved on, the man stared at his back, muttered something, and flipped open his jacket to reveal the butt of a revolver.

"Charles," the woman whispered harshly, just loudly enough for Flynn to overhear, and flipped the jacket back over the handgun.

Flynn wondered what it was all about. He was careful, though, not to appear too curious.

The conductor finished checking all the tickets, then moved on to the next car.

"You didn't have to go making friends with him," Benjamin said. "If he hadn't seen that whiskey bottle, I reckon he might have invited you home to supper."

Flynn laughed. "Always make friends when you can, lad. There's more profit in it than in making enemies. After all, when you meet a strange dog, don't you give him your hand to smell first? It will be hard for him to bite it later. It's the same with men."

Outside, the scenery rushed past. It was rough, hilly country, and the leaves were mostly gone from the trees, leaving the landscape bare and brown. The tracks followed the Patapsco River, which twisted and turned through the valley as it led deeper into the countryside. There were far too many curves for the train to move with any real speed, so the raiders bided their time, each mile feeling like an eternity.

As the train rolled on, the raiders in the car exchanged anxious glances.

"Not long now, lad," Flynn whispered to Benjamin.

At last, they steamed into a sleepy town ringed by more of the same rough terrain, with houses built into the hills rising above the river. A main street ran perpendicular to the Patapsco, crossing the river at a newly built bridge. J.E.B. Stuart's cavalry had burned the old bridge a few months before on their roundabout ride to Gettysburg.

The biggest building in town was Sykes's Hotel, a four-story tavern near the banks of the river that served as an unofficial train station. The train halted more or less in front of the hotel and the passengers began to get off and amble toward the establishment, which offered hot coffee and buttermilk biscuits with ham to hungry travelers.

"Breakfast!" the conductor called, bursting into the car and striding down the aisle. "Last stop we'll make between here and Harpers Ferry! We leave again in half an hour. Don't be late, ladies and gentlemen."

The conductor himself was soon hurrying toward the hotel with his engineer and fireman.

Flynn leaned close to Benjamin. "Best get ready, lad. It's beginning. Just don't shoot anyone you don't have to."

Not everyone got off the train. Some thrifty passengers had brought their own food, while others appeared content to go without. Flynn noticed the dapper couple from Baltimore stayed put, their breakfast consisting of a few quick nips from a flask passed between them.

Flynn's eyes slid to Percy. He was expecting some sign from the colonel. Benjamin fidgeted on the seat beside him, nervous as a damn puppy. The other passengers talked among themselves or produced their breakfasts from baskets and bags: biscuits, apples, a cold chicken drumstick or two.

"I believe I'll get some air," Percy announced to no one in particular, but loudly enough for all the raiders in the car to hear. "Sykesville, is it? A lovely town."

He stepped out the door.

"What's he playing at?" Benjamin hissed so loudly the dandified couple looked his way. The man had tiny scars at the corners of his eyes, a sign that he had been in his share of fights. He'll be a tough bastard, Flynn thought. Once again, he wondered what the couple was doing aboard the train.

He didn't spend much time wondering, though. He turned to Benjamin. "Do as Percy says, lad," Flynn said quietly. He stood up, stretched, sniffed. "Take the air like a proper gentleman."

"I wish I knew what in hell was going on," Benjamin whispered.

"You will, lad, soon enough."

They left the train and joined Percy on the platform, or what there was of one. Sykesville was not a big town and its train station was minimal, especially considering that the damage J.E.B. Stuart's men had done while riding through last summer had yet to be completely repaired. There was a platform of rough-sawn boards so passengers could get on and off the train without stepping in the mud. The railroad had come to town in 1831, but the closest thing to a train station was Sykes's Hotel.

Outside on the platform, Percy was staring off to the other side of the river. Flynn followed his gaze and what he saw made his breath come out in a gasp.

"Sweet Jesus," he muttered.

"Damn," said Benjamin, seeing it, too.

Flynn realized he had been so busy studying the town as the train arrived that he hadn't bothered to look across the river.

Percy just stared. Captain Cater was now on the platform, as were Wilson and Pettibone. They were soon joined by Forbes and Hazlett.

All of them fixed their eyes on the meadow beyond the riverbank, where a full regiment of Yankees was camped. Across the river, several bored soldiers eyed the train. All of them had rifles in their hands.

Pettibone spat. "At least it ain't cavalry."

But there were nearly a thousand infantrymen, and the Patapsco River separating them from the railroad tracks was so shallow after a hot, dry autumn that the soldiers could easily splash across at the first alarm. The platform was well within range of the enemy's Springfield rifles, although it was doubtful the Yankees would open fire with civilian passengers still aboard the train. The raiders had counted on the Chesapeake stopping for breakfast, but not on a regiment of Yankees using the town as a campground.

That wasn't the worst of it. Three soldiers swung down from the baggage car and walked out onto the platform. All three carried rifles with fixed bayonets. They eyed the men on the platform suspiciously. Hudson came out of the car and sat on the iron steps. Behind the soldiers' backs, he held up three fingers, pointed at the Yankees, then pointed at the car and made a circle with his fingers to indicate no one else was inside.

"Who the hell are they?" Forbes asked.

"Guards," Percy said. "Lincoln's on the train, remember? It makes sense they didn't send him entirely alone."

"Now what?" Pettibone wondered out loud, speaking for all of them. They hadn't planned on hijacking the train in plain view of a Yankee regiment.

Percy just stared across the river, thinking