David Healey - Rebel Train

“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 seemed 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.”

“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.”

“All I want is a chance to kill some Yankees,” Benjamin said.

Flynn raised his eyes theatrically to heaven. “Help me, Lord. One man thinks of his belly, the other is thirsty for blood.”

The raiders had split up early that morning, striking out in their separate groups for the river that marked the boundary between North and South.

“So you want to kill Yankees, do you now, Johnny lad?” Flynn asked.

“I reckon I do. I done got wounded down in Tennessee before I could even fire my rifle.”

“Well, I hope Colonel Percy gave you a decent pistol,” Flynn said. “The way you were shooting yesterday, he should have given you one of the new Colts.”

Benjamin pushed back his long coat to reveal an unwieldy and old-fashioned looking Model 1842 Horse Pistol. “I reckon this will do just fine.”

Flynn pulled his horse up short. He looked shocked. “Percy sent you on this raid with that ? An old single-shot pistol? Why, lad, I believe General Washington himself carried one of those.”

Flynn drew his own Colt Navy revolver and handed it to Benjamin. “Here you go, lad. You’ll make better use of it than me, I’m sure.”

Pettibone watched the exchange with amusement. “That’s mighty generous of you, Flynn. But what are you going to do if we run into some Yankees — talk them to death?”

“Sure, and I’ll be using my other gun.” Flynn patted his pocket. “A Le Mat revolver imported all the way from Paris. It fires nine shots and a shotgun blast to boot.”

Pettibone nodded. “I reckon that ought do the trick.”

“What should I do with this old horse pistol?” Benjamin asked.

“Give it to me, lad.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Pettibone asked.

“I’ll use it as a backup gun. Besides, one shot is all I need,” Flynn said. “When I shoot a man, I’m generally close enough that I can stick the barrel in the bastard’s belly.” He slipped the old pistol into his pocket. “This one will do me just fine.”

Pettibone snorted. “You’re an odd one, Flynn.”

“That’s been said before.”

“I reckon you’re touched in the head, all right, to come with us,” Pettibone said. “This is a fool’s mission.”

“The decision wasn’t entirely mine. Besides, I do what I’m told because I know who butters my bread,” Flynn said. He then asked as idly as possible, “Don’t you have confidence in Colonel Percy?”

“Flynn, I’d follow the colonel to hell and back,” Pettibone said. “Come to think of it, I reckon I already have, in some ways. But think of what we’re asked to do. The devil himself couldn’t pull this off. Kidnap Abraham Lincoln? That’s like trying to steal Christ off the cross.”

“Don’t blaspheme the Lord. It’s bad luck,” Flynn said.

“You still goin’ to shoot Percy?” Pettibone asked. “I have to tell you, Flynn, that I’ll kill you first.”