by David Healey
Sensing trouble, Colonel Percy raised a hand. "Save it for the Yankees, boys. There will be no fighting here. We don't need the Provost Guard snooping around ... or Colonel Norris, either. We're stuck with Flynn and Fletcher, and they're stuck with us."
Fletcher muttered something under his breath and disappeared into another room. Flynn hefted the strap of the leather satchel off his shoulder and placed the bag on a nearby table with a heavy sound.
"What's in there?" Percy asked.
Flynn turned around. Percy was squinting at him again. Did the man need spectacles? Hazlett was glaring, but Flynn ignored him. "I thought you'd never ask."
Flynn unlatched the satchel's leather flap, then reached inside. He took out a bundled, oily cloth, then unwrapped it to reveal a new, six-shot Colt Navy revolver.
He gave the handgun to Percy and the colonel smiled as he inspected the weapon.
"How did you know we needed guns?" Percy asked.
"Colonel Norris said you might. I happened to know where to find some." It wasn't the truth, but Flynn figured the more he could do to make himself look good, the better.
Percy took the revolver, hefted it, and sighted down the barrel. "At least you're more useful than Fletcher," he said.
Flynn managed to look hurt. "A man hardly knows what to say to such a compliment. Now, what if I were to tell you I knew something about the part of Maryland we'll be riding through?"
"What part?"
"Out beyond Harpers Ferry. I worked on the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. Backbreaking work, I can tell you. Nothing but rocks in that soil. As you know, Colonel, the tracks of that train you'll be riding run right along the canal most of the way to the city of Cumberland."
Percy stroked his beard as Flynn waited. Norris had told him that Percy lacked a guide. Of course, Norris was sending Fletcher because the captain was from Maryland—not that Flynn had much faith in Fletcher's abilities as a guide. In any case, Norris hadn't been overly concerned. He pointed out that once Percy and his men were aboard that train, all they had to do was keep the engine stoked and they would end up where they were supposed to rendezvous with the Confederate cavalry. Flynn knew it wouldn't be that easy.
"We don't need no damn Paddy to guide us," Hazlett said. "I reckon we can find our own way.”
Colonel Percy held up a hand to silence him. He stared hard at Flynn, who was taken aback by the sudden, flinty expression. Percy, he realized, was not a man to be taken lightly.
"Where we're going, Hazlett, we'll need all the help we can get," Percy said. "If Sergeant Flynn here knows the territory, that's all the better. At least we won't be traveling blind. And you seem to have certain persuasive talents, Flynn."
" 'Tis a gift, sir."
"I've heard that about the Irish. Well, we might need all the gifts we have to get us across Maryland and aboard that train." Percy lowered his voice so the others couldn't hear. "I won't say I'm glad you're here, Flynn, considering you might shoot me in the back at any moment. Don't forget, of course, that we might do the same to you."
"Like I said, let's just do what Norris wants and we'll all get back home alive," Flynn said.
Percy nodded, and turned away. Flynn realized he had been dismissed. He gathered up his satchel.
He found Fletcher in the next room and clapped the captain on the arm so hard he winced. "Looks like we're partners, Captain," Flynn said.
Curling his lip in distaste, Fletcher moved out from under Flynn's hand. "Don't make things worse between us, Flynn. I told these men you were coming, and why."
"That would explain the warm welcome," Flynn said.
Fletcher smiled wanly. "From what I've heard, I'd say you could use all the friends you can get, Sergeant."
For once, Flynn thought, Fletcher had a point.
Flynn left the room, and Hazlett walked over to Captain Fletcher. He had sensed the animosity between the two men and his face wore a sly look that quickly vanished as the captain turned around.
"He's an uppity son of a bitch, ain't he?" Hazlett said. "He ain't got no right to treat a man like you that way, Captain."
Fletcher blinked in surprise. So far, Percy's men had hardly spoken to him. He studied the lean, scarred face and thought that Hazlett looked to be a particularly hard man. A good man to have on your side.
Up close, Hazlett appeared even more terrifying. He was taller than Fletcher by a head, with long, lank brown hair. The scar made him look evil. His smile revealed oddly spaced teeth that resembled fangs.
"Flynn doesn't respect his betters," the captain replied.
"That's the Irish for you," Hazlett said with real venom in his voice. He did not like the Irish because he had seen so many of them come to Virginia before the war and rise to success on their farms or with their small businesses. Meanwhile, Hazlett's own circumstances had hardly improved, despite marrying Percy's cousin. "People got to know their place. Trash like the Irish and the negroes has got to be kept down."
Fletcher agreed completely, although he was surprised to hear someone like Hazlett put into words the very thoughts that had been going through Fletcher's mind.
"He's uppity, all right," Fletcher said.
"I'll put that Paddy in his place. Don't you worry none about that, sir," Hazlett said, then saluted the captain and walked away.
Fletcher, feeling puffed up by Hazlett's compliments, believed he had just found an ally among the raiders.
Chapter 7
In the morning, Colonel Percy had his band of men walk nearly two miles out of Richmond. The city fell away, replaced by small farms that looked dusty and worn out. Weeds grew in most of the fields they passed and the cattle were all slat-ribbed. Finally, Percy led the men to a meadow ringed with trees and they spread out in an uneasy half-circle, wondering why the colonel had brought them there.
"This morning we're going to have some shooting practice," Percy said.
A couple of the men laughed. "Hell, Colonel, you think we're gettin' rusty here in Richmond?"
Percy turned to Flynn. "Show 'em what you brought along, Sergeant."
Flynn lifted the leather satchel off his shoulder, spread a cloth on a fallen log, and one by one placed several new revolvers on it. The polished wooden grips gleamed in the sun and the well-oiled pistols left a bitter metallic smell in the morning air.
"Colt Navy revolvers," Flynn said. "Brand new, from the armory in Connecticut."
"Yankee guns," Hazlett said. He didn't sound happy about it.
"Some of the best ever made," Percy replied. "Six shots, thirty-six caliber. Small enough to fit in a coat pocket if necessary. And this way we'll all have the same weapons and can use each other's ammunition if necessary."
"Makes sense to me, Colonel," said Silas Cater, walking over to the log and selecting one of the revolvers. "It's got a nice feel to it."
Although all of the cavalrymen had pistols, the problem was that almost all of them carried different models, from Kerr revolvers manufactured in London to Griswold & Gunnison six-shooters made by slaves at a factory in Georgia. Each man was always scrambling to find enough ammunition for his particular weapon.
Hudson had also carried a sack out from Richmond, and he placed it now on the ground next to the log.
"We have holsters for the revolvers here,” Flynn said, then reached into the sack and took out a box of cartridges. The box read: Six cartridges for Colt's Navy Pistol, made at the Laboratory of Confederate States Army, Richmond, Va. “Plenty of ammunition, too.”
Flynn took up one of the revolvers and proceeded to load it, explaining the process as he went: "Pull back the hammer to half-cock to free the cylinder. Put a cartridge in each cylinder, tamp it down with the loading lever, then put percussion caps on each chamber. That's six dead Yankees for you."
Lieutenant Cater deftly loaded a revolver and sighted down the barrel. "Very nice," he said.
"Don't say I never done nothing for you," Flynn said.
Percy took one of the revolvers and loade
d it. "All right, boys, let's see how you shoot."
"We're two guns short," Flynn pointed out. "That's all they gave us."
Of course, that wasn't quite true. Back in Richmond, the Confederate Secret Service had supplied him with a revolver for each raider, but he had traded two on the black market for several excellent bottles of whiskey.
Hudson and the downy-faced soldier, Johnny Benjamin, were the two without guns.
"If someone on this side of the Potomac sees Hudson carrying a gun there will only be trouble," Percy said. “I’ll give him one once we’re on the train. Johnny, you take my Colt for now until we can get you a pistol."
"A darkie sure as hell don't need no gun," Hazlett agreed.
Flynn glanced at Hudson to see how he would react, but his ebony face was stoic. He busied himself sorting the ammunition in the bag.
"Willie, give me your hat," Percy ordered.
Forbes handed it over, and Percy strode through the tall grass of the meadow to a stump about fifty feet away. The stump was cut high, nearly as tall as Percy, and he placed the hat on top. "That there's the enemy," he explained, walking back over to the men. "Just don't shoot any holes in Willie's hat. Aim for the stump. Lieutenant Cater, you go first."
Cater stepped forward, raised the revolver, and fired. At the sound of the gunshot, a flock of crows flew off from the field, cawing in alarm. As they wheeled away, Flynn counted ten birds, exactly the number in their own group. He fought the urge to cross himself as they flew out of sight. He didn't know what the crows meant exactly, but it couldn't be anything good.
The second shot also missed the stump. Hitting a target with a pistol relied more on instinct and experience than using a rifle did. There was no rear sight as with a rifle so you focused on the front sight at the end of the barrel and tried to get a feel for how to aim. It took practice to hit anything that wasn't in spitting distance.
Cater fired again. This time, bark flew from the stump. The next three shots also hit their mark.
Cater turned to Flynn. "You want to practice?"
"Oh, I already did that when I first got the guns," he said, hoping nobody would press it. The truth was, Flynn couldn't shoot worth a damn. He preferred using his fists to settle any differences.
One by one, the other men tested their new Colts. Like Cater, most missed the first two or three shots. Captain Fletcher missed all six. The others laughed out loud.
“That’s enough!” Percy shouted. “I haven’t seen any of you do much better.”
Then came Johnny Benjamin's turn. The boy took the Colt and stepped forward.
“I hope that gun ain’t too heavy for you, son. Better use two hands,” Hazlett taunted. “I reckon you ought to be old enough to shave before you can shoot.”
Ignoring Hazlett, the boy didn't bother to aim the revolver but held the Colt at waist level and quickly fired off six shots that skinned bark off the stump. The last bullet flicked the hat away and sent it rolling through the field.
"Damn it all!" Willie Forbes shouted. "Don't go shooting my hat."
The boy was grinning as he handed Percy back the pistol. "Six shots, six dead Yankees," Benjamin said. "I reckon that's a pretty good start."
"We'll see," Percy said.
• • •
"You will be traveling in two groups," Percy explained that afternoon in the crowded parlor of the rooming house. "We don't want to attract attention, which we surely would moving together."
"Where do we meet up?" Pettibone asked.
"Each group will go its own way and cross the Potomac at different points," Percy said. "That should increase the changes that some of us will get through. As long as at least one group arrives at the rendezvous, we can still carry out the mission."
Captain Fletcher stepped forward. “I just wanted to clarify one point, sir, that as the next highest-ranking officer and as Colonel Norris’s representative I am second in command.”
“No.”
Fletcher appeared shocked. “What do you mean?”
“You may be a captain, Fletcher, but on this raid Lieutenant Cater is my official second in command. He knows how to handle himself and he knows what needs to be done. Is that clear to everyone?”
The others nodded approval. Fletcher sputtered something in protest but nobody paid him any mind.
“Let’s continue.” The colonel went on outlining his plan. Hazlett, Forbes, Lieutenant Cater and John Cook were in the first group. Percy assigned himself to Hudson and Corporal Pettibone. The men he grouped together were all from his old regiment and they were now all on special duty thanks to Colonel Norris.
That left Flynn and Captain Fletcher, along with Johnny Benjamin and two railroad men: an engineer named Cephas Wilson and a fireman, Hank Cunningham. Percy had taken a lesson from last year's failed Andrews train raid in recruiting two men who knew something about locomotives. Andrews hadn't brought any experienced railroaders with him and this had resulted in some difficulty in operating the captured train. Percy didn't want to make the same mistake. It would be up to Wilson and Cunningham to keep the locomotive running all the way from Baltimore to Confederate territory in the Shenandoah Valley. Both men were older than the others, their hair streaked with gray. Their hands were work-hardened and seemed to be permanently stained with soot and oil. Standing among Percy’s seasoned veterans, it was clear they were not soldiers.
"You two go with Lieutenant Cater," Percy said to the railroad men. "If anyone can get you across the Potomac, he can."
Wilson and Cunningham moved off to join their group. Flynn, Fletcher, Pettibone and Benjamin were left standing by themselves in the parlor.
Flynn spoke up. "Looks like I'll be going with you, Colonel. I guess you don't want to let me out of your sight."
"My daddy always told me to keep my friends close and my enemies closer, so I could keep any eye on them."
Hazlett said, "Hell, Irish, the Colonel just reckoned you'd get lost unless you went with him. You and that snot-nose boy. I might just lose you on purpose, if you was to go with me."
"Hell, if Irish and the boy ain't at the rendezvous, it's no great loss," Cook said from the back of the room. "The rest of us will get ourselves there, one way or another."
Beside him, Flynn felt the boy go tense at the remark. He put a hand on Benjamin's shoulder and winked at him, then turned to Hazlett. He had met Hazlett's kind before, men who hated the Irish and other immigrants because they thought the newcomers were crowding them out and robbing them of opportunity. Flynn wasn't one to accept insults lightly, but this wasn't the place for a fight. He decided he would settle accounts with Hazlett when the time came. For the moment, he hid his anger behind a laugh.
"We'll be there before you, Hazlett," he said lightly. "I'll bet you a bottle of good whiskey that this lad and I are waiting for you at the rendezvous."
"It's not a race," Percy interrupted. "You are to reach Ellicott Mills without any trouble. Go as quietly and as quickly as you can. The real mission doesn't start until that train rolls into town."
The men shuffled impatiently, waiting for him to continue. Percy smiled and produced a thick sheaf of paper money from inside his coat.
"Yankee greenbacks," he said. "You'll each get enough for food and lodging to get you to Ellicott Mills, and to buy tickets for the train. You won't get enough money to buy whiskey or whores, or to play cards. You're on duty from this point on. Consider yourselves as being in the field, not in Richmond."
"I reckon the furlough's over," Forbes said.
"It is," Percy said. "That means no whiskey for you, Forbes. From now on, if you want to get drunk, you have to ask my permission."
Forbes started to protest. "We're still in Richmond, Colonel — "
"Not one drop," Percy said sternly. "For you or anyone else."
"Yes, sir."
Percy counted out a few Yankee dollars to each man. The face of Treasury Secretary Salmon P. Chase appeared on each bill like an omen. Their palms held what seeme
d like a small amount of money compared to the stacks of Confederate currency needed to buy anything in Richmond. "Don't lose that money now, boys," Percy said. "You're going to need it."
Each man had memorized the route from the Potomac to the little crossroads town of Ellicott Mills, and each also knew which town along the B&O's route he was to buy a ticket for once he had reached the rendezvous. Percy didn't want all the men to buy tickets for Cumberland, thus drawing the ticket clerk's attention.
Willie Forbes spoke up. "What do you think our chances are, Colonel?"
Percy looked around the room at all the faces in front of him. Most belonged to men he had shared many dangers and adventures with since the first days of the war. Good men, all of them, and Percy didn't like the thought that he might be leading them into disaster. Kidnap the president of the United States? It was a risky adventure, at best. When he first spoke the idea out loud it sounded impossible. But now, after thinking about it, the possibilities of it all had taken hold. Percy had been a soldier long enough to know that sometimes the most brash and daring ideas were the ones that worked best of all. His own success during the war had been the result of gambling heavily with his men. But the odds this time were against them.
"All I know is that we're either going to be famous—or dead," Percy said. "Any other questions?"
He looked around at the knot of men in the room. Some faces were stony, some grinning, but no one spoke up. It was as if they were going into battle.
Percy nodded. "Let's go catch us a president, boys."
• • •
Virginia countryside
November 14, 1863
"You sure do talk a lot," Pettibone finally said to Flynn, who hadn't been quiet for a moment since leaving Richmond.
"That's because you lads haven't got anything to say."
"What's there to talk about?" Pettibone said. "We know what we got to do once we get across the river. I jest hope there's something decent to eat in Maryland. Lord, what I wouldn't do for a nice bit of ham."
