by David Healey
Prescott joined the group that pressed up to the tracks. Some of the men took off their coats and flapped them up and down, the better to catch the engineer's attention. Prescott thought it unlikely the engineer wouldn't notice a crowd of people standing along the tracks in the middle of nowhere.
He could see it now, too, a column of smoke approaching from the west. Well, he thought, maybe the adventure wasn't over quite yet. He made up his mind that he was going along for the chase, if there was one.
• • •
2:20 p.m., near Weverton, Maryland
Percy took out his Colt revolver and double-checked to make certain it was loaded. It was a soldier's nervous habit. Any veteran knew his life depended upon the proper functioning of his weapons.
From the looks of things, he might soon need his revolver. He squinted into the distance, where he could just make out the fast-approaching column of smoke that heralded an oncoming train. Percy had no way of knowing if the other train was simply headed east to Baltimore or whether it was loaded with Yankee soldiers intent on stopping the raiders.
"At least we're moving, sir," said Cephas Wilson, the engineer, as if reading Percy's mind.
"If they try to flag us down, don't stop," Percy said. "They can chase us if they want, but we're not going to make it easy for them."
Wilson started to ask a question, then seemed to think better of it. "What about the president, sir?"
"If we can't get him to Richmond, our orders are to shoot him. You know that as well as I do, Wilson."
"Yes, sir ... it just don't seem right."
Percy agreed, although he did not tell that to Wilson. To shoot Abe Lincoln, unarmed, seemed wrong, even if he was the president of their sworn enemy, the United States of America. In fact, in Percy's mind it would be murder. If it came down to killing Lincoln, he would do it himself rather than burden one of his men with the assassination of the Yankee president.
Again, Percy checked the cylinder of his Colt. Each of the six chambers was loaded with a paper cartridge of powder and ball. A percussion cap covered each of the six firing cones, waiting for the blow of the hammer. Was one of these bullets destined for Lincoln?
He swung the cylinder shut and holstered the Colt. Ahead of them, on the opposite track, the approaching train had come into view. His eyes were not what they used to be, so Percy strained to see if there were muskets aimed at them from the windows.
"Here she comes, sir," Wilson said.
"Are they armed?" Percy asked, fishing in a pocket for his spectacles.
"Can't tell for sure, sir."
"Give her everything she's got, Wilson. Pour it on."
The engineer opened the throttle wide. Hank Cunningham worked like a fiend, hurling wood into the open maw of the firebox. The task was becoming harder because the supply of cordwood in the tender was getting low. Percy held his breath and kept one hand on his revolver.
The train hurtled toward the Chesapeake, spewing smoke and cinders into the sky from its enormous smokestack. In seconds, the locomotive was even with them. The engineer leaned from the window and gave them a wave. Then the train was rushing past, bound for Baltimore. It would not get far. Percy was sure the other train would stop when it spotted the passengers the raiders had put off. But by then, the Chesapeake would be far ahead if the other train decided to give chase.
Percy breathed again. And then he whooped. "Ha! They don't know about us, boys! On to Virginia!"
Busy at the Chesapeake's controls, Cephas Wilson looked less than elated. They were rounding a bend in the tracks, and he pointed ahead. There, as the curve straightened, was a siding. A locomotive waited under steam. It was a new 4-4-0, the designation coming from the fact that it had four large driving wheels behind four much smaller ones. The huge driving wheels were bigger even than the Chesapeake's. The locomotive’s new black paint gleamed. Lord Baltimore was painted on the locomotive's cab in gold letters a foot high. The engineer leaned out the window and lifted his hand in greeting as they passed.
Percy's smile faded. "That’s the same train we saw come through Ellicott Mills this morning."
"What do you want to do, Colonel? We ought to wreck that locomotive."
Percy hesitated, then made up his mind. If they stopped, the eastbound train they had just passed could easily overtake them if it reversed direction. "Keep going, keep going."
A knot of men stood by the new locomotive, watching the Chesapeake rush past. The Lord Baltimore had only a tender attached. The locomotive would be fast, all right, if it came after them. But there was no sign the crew standing around on the siding was prepared to give chase. They did not appear excited by the sight of the Chesapeake. A few even waved.
Hank Cunningham paused in his work feeding the firebox to wave back. He grinned, his teeth showing white against the sooty mask of his face. "Yankees sure are a stupid bunch," he muttered through his teeth. "If this keeps up, we'll be in Richmond the day after tomorrow."
"We're not there yet," Percy reminded him.
Percy knew they were running out of time. Every minute counted. The Yankees might not know the raiders had kidnapped the president, but it was enough that they had seized a train and were running toward the Confederate haven of the Shenandoah Valley. The telegraph wires would come alive, and every Yankee in Maryland would work himself into a frenzy of righteous indignation over the raid.
"More wood, Hank," Percy shouted above the roar of the wind and the engine. "Pile it on. We need speed, man, speed!"
The race for their lives, for the fate of Abraham Lincoln, for the survival of the Confederacy itself, had begun.
Chapter 23
2:30 p.m., near Adamstown, Maryland
Much to his annoyance, Greer watched the Chesapeake's smoke trail fade into the vast, violet shadows of the mountains ahead. Even he had to admit they were hopelessly far behind. On foot, there wasn't much chance of catching up again. It could not be a good sign, either, that the second column of smoke from the approaching eastbound locomotive had halted, hovering now on the horizon.
"What's going on, Greer?" Captain Lowell demanded. Only his wounded pride kept him urging his soldiers on. He was anxious to call a halt to what he saw as a futile chase and return to his post guarding the Monocacy River crossing.
"I don't know what the hell those bastards are doing," Greer snapped. "Just keep your men moving."
Captain Lowell was about to argue, but Oscar Schmidt put a stop to that. "You heard him," the big German growled. "Keep marching."
Uncertain of what to do, the captain let himself be swayed again by Greer's tenacity. But he wasn't completely beaten. "Two more miles," he said. "Then we turn around."
Greer only grunted in reply, then started down the tracks. The soldiers marched on, matching the fast pace set by Greer, in spite of his limp.
Up ahead, the eastbound train's column of smoke began to move toward them again. Greer felt like cheering. After several minutes, the train came into sight.
"Stand near the tracks, wave your arms, flag them down," Greer excitedly ordered the soldiers, bypassing the captain.
"Do as he says," Lowell shouted, but the soldiers were already obeying Greer.
"What if they don't stop?" asked a soldier standing in the center of the tracks.
"They'll stop," Greer said. "Flap your arms like you were trying to fly. Just don't stand in the middle of the tracks unless you're anxious to leave this world for the next."
Greer took up a position in front of the rest of them, waving his stout, powerful arms at the oncoming train. For a moment, the train gave no sign of stopping, and it seemed the soldiers’ fears might be justified and they would all face a long walk back to the Monocacy River, empty-handed. The locomotive bore down on them, laboring under a billowing cloud of smoke. Then there was a screech of brakes, the screech of iron gripping iron, and tons of machinery slid to a halt just yards short of where Greer stood beside the gleaming rails.
The engineer leaned out fro
m the cab. "What the hell is going on?"
Greer ran forward. "You're Tom Coker, aren't you? My name's Greer. Some sons of bitches stole my train. You just passed it back there."
The engineer nodded. "I didn't expect to find you out here, Greer. I just picked up some people the Rebs put off your train."
Greer could hardly believe what he was hearing. Rebels! So, the men who had stolen his train weren't just train thieves, after all. The engineer climbed down and joined him on the ground.
"You mean Rebels took my train?"
"That's what the passengers said. Confederate soldiers, led by that Colonel Percy. He's that Confederate colonel I've read about in the newspapers, leading all those cavalry raids."
"Arthur Percy?" Greer said. He had also read about Percy. Baltimore was a pro-Southern city, and the newspapers published lengthy accounts of Confederate exploits.
"The one who led the Buckley Courthouse raid?"
"One and the same. He's the leader of this raid."
"What are the Rebs doing up here?" Greer was amazed they had struck so deep into Maryland. "The payroll for the Cumberland garrison is aboard, and I reckoned they were after that. They're not in uniform."
"Then they'll be treated as spies when they're caught," the engineer said. "Strung up from the nearest tree."
"I'll be damned," Greer said, feeling a new sense of rage spread through him. "Rebels stole my train."
"The passengers said there are eleven men. No rifles that they could see, just revolvers. One of the men is hurt bad. Shot."
"Thanks to this," Greer said, brandishing the shotgun he had managed to save from the wreckage at the Monocacy.
"I've got twenty men," said Captain Lowell, who had been standing quietly to one said. "They're armed with Springfield rifles. I don't think the raiders will give us much trouble."
Coker studied Lowell a moment, taking his measure. He frowned and said, "These are tough customers ... Captain. That Colonel Percy ain't no Bible preacher, from what I've heard of him. He and his men have already murdered at least three passengers. Odds are those Johnny Rebs are all veterans. They know how to fight, and they don't scare easy."
At that point, Greer was long past caution. He just wanted the thieves caught, his train returned, the payroll money safe. He didn't care if Confederate soldiers or common thieves had taken the train. Either way, soldiers out of uniform or train thieves could all be hanged alongside the railroad tracks and left for the crows to pick at.
"Captain Lowell, get your men aboard," Greer said. "Schmidt! You, me and Frost will ride on the tender."
"Now hold on, Greer," said Coker. "This train is going on to Baltimore. It ain't my job to chase Rebel raiders."
Greer put his hands on his hips and glared at the engineer. He looked as stubborn and immobile as a granite boulder. "Look here, Coker. You work for the B&O Railroad, don't you?"
"You know I do."
"Well, that train is B&O property. It's been stolen. There's government money aboard that's been entrusted to the B&O. As a B&O employee, it is your duty to reverse this train and go after those raiders, whether they are Rebels or ordinary thieves."
The other conductor was not giving in. "Hell, Greer, the way I see it, you're the one who lost that train. It ain't my responsibility."
There was no way Greer was letting Coker's train go on to Baltimore. He needed it to pursue the Rebel raiders, and he would take the train by force if necessary.
"Captain Lowell, will you kindly tell Mr. Coker that you are commandeering this train in the name of the United States Government?"
Coker held up his hands to protest. "Now hold on here— "
"Mr. Coker?" Lowell shifted uneasily from foot to foot. "By the power vested in me— "
"You're not a preacher, Captain." Greer felt himself growing more agitated. He took a deep breath. "Just tell him to put his goddamn train in reverse and go after those Rebs."
Captain Lowell nodded, looked at the conductor. "Do as he says."
Grumbling, Coker climbed back on his engine. "I'm going to file a formal complaint with the railroad when I get back to Baltimore, Greer."
"You might not want to do that, considering you'll be a hero for capturing those raiders."
The engine lurched into reverse. It was now pushing twenty loaded cars, instead of pulling them, and the train gathered speed very slowly. With so many cars there was an increased risk of derailing, so Coker refused to give the engine full throttle. They were going after the raiders, but the train was moving so slowly that it could hardly be called a chase. Greer kept looking toward the horizon in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Chesapeake's smoke. The sky remained empty.
The Rebels already had a good lead, and the argument with Coker and now the slowness of the reversing train had cost them time. If they didn't move faster, the raiders would soon be close to Confederate-held territory. Greer might never see his train again.
"We'll never catch that damn train at this rate," he said.
"Beats walkin'," Walter Frost pointed out. Like Greer and Schmidt, he was also exhausted from running and then pumping the hand car in the wake of the Chesapeake.
"If ya'll don't mind, shut the hell up," Coker said. "I ain't heard as much whinin' from half a dozen young'uns in a candy store as I done heard from the three of you."
Schmidt's big face turned red with anger, and he might have tossed Coker off the locomotive if Greer hadn't stepped between him and the other engineer. "Goddamn fool," Schmidt growled, trying to push past Greer and get at the engineer.
"Anytime you're ready, Dutchy."
The two might have scuffled if Frost had not suddenly pointed ahead and shouted, "Look at that!"
To Greer's amazement, a locomotive on a siding came into view. It was under steam, on the westbound tracks. At first, he thought it might be the Chesapeake, abandoned by the raiders. But he could see differences as they drew closer. There were no cars, only the engineer and tender. A small crew stood nearby, clearly curious, but not alarmed by the approach of the reversing train.
Then Greer noticed Lord Baltimore painted on the side of the cab in ornate, gold lettering.
He smiled. He recognized the locomotive as one of the B&O's newest, built by the Baldwin Ironworks in Philadelphia. Fast and powerful, the locomotive was on a test run, having left Baltimore that morning well ahead of the Chesapeake. The polished edged of the massive driving wheels gleamed in the autumn sun. Greer would wager a month's pay that the Lord Baltimore could do seventy miles per hour. The engine was pointed west, under steam, ready to go.
"Stop the train," Greer said. "We just found ourselves one hell of a fast locomotive."
• • •
3 p.m., Sandy Hook, Maryland
Percy watched with a mixture of fear and elation as the cliffs of Harpers Ferry loomed closer. Unconsciously, he let his hand slip to his holster and touch the grip of his Colt. Known locally as Maryland Heights, the towering cliff above Harpers Ferry and the Potomac River might as well represent the odds stacked against them, he thought. The revolver was a puny weapon against so huge an obstacle, not to mention a whole garrison of Union soldiers on the other side of the river.
Harpers Ferry was the town where the Civil War essentially began when the abolitionist zealot John Brown seized the federal arsenal in 1858. Robert E. Lee, then a colonel in the Union army, had ordered his soldiers to storm the arsenal and put an end to the act of rebellion. Stuart's aide, Lieutenant J.E.B. Stuart, led the attack. Just a few years later, Lee would be commanding the whole of the Confederate army and General Stuart would be riding to glory at the head of his famed cavalry.
As the Chesapeake raced toward the Potomac River crossing that led to the town on the West Virginia shore of the river, Percy was less worried about history than the current state of affairs in Harpers Ferry. Shadows cast by the hills and bare trees grew long as the November afternoon wore on. It had taken longer than Percy anticipated to reach the Potomac. The challenge now was
to cross the river and get as close as possible to the rendezvous point at Romney before darkness fell.
They could still travel after dark—the Chesapeake was equipped with kerosene lanterns—but it would be too dangerous to operate at full speed because they would be unable to see the tracks ahead. There was no telling what might be on them—fallen rocks, brush, a stray cow—and Percy had no desire to derail in the mountains ahead without any idea where they were. Also, it would be easy to miss the rendezvous in the darkness. Therefore, speed was of the essence if they were going to reach their destination before nightfall.
Ever since that day John Brown had seized the arsenal, control of Harpers Ferry had changed hands many times between North and South. Stonewall Jackson's troops had sacked the town in September 1863 before the fight at Sharpsburg. The long railroad bridge had been destroyed by flood or soldiers time and time again, only to be rebuilt by the Union's unstoppable engineers. The bridge had to be rebuilt and guarded because the span was part of the vital rail line that linked Washington City with the western states.
The bridge was constructed of iron Bollman trusses, an ingenious bridge-building system that was resistant to fire, but not to the raging waters of the Potomac when the mighty river flooded. The town and crossing were under the protection of Union artillery on Maryland Heights. Percy knew the Yankee gunners could easily blow the Chesapeake into oblivion if the telegraph had already alerted them to the stolen train.
Percy realized both his fireman and engineer were watching him expectantly.
"Now what, sir?" Wilson finally asked.
"Open the throttle," Percy ordered. "Let's see how fast we can cross that bridge."
• • •
3:10 p.m., Weverton, Maryland
George Greer watched with satisfaction as soldiers and his own crew swarmed onto the Lord Baltimore. "Grab hold of something," he shouted. "This train is going to fly."
