David Healey - Rebel Train

Percy turned to Flynn. “You heard him. Buy two.”

“Yes, sir.”

Flynn soon returned, tickets in hand, and they settled down to wait for the others.

It was late in the afternoon when the rest of the raiders arrived. Flynn, with a mischievous grin on his face, was waiting on a bench outside the B&O ticket office in Ellicott Mills when Hazlett appeared.

Hazlett glared at him. The sergeant looked tired and dirty after the hard journey from Richmond. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides when he saw Flynn grinning at him.

“You Irish bastard,” Hazlett hissed as loudly as he dared on the station platform. “What are you lookin’ at?”

“Is that any way to talk to someone you owe a bottle of whiskey to?” Flynn said. “Store-bought whiskey, too, if you don’t mind. My stomach don’t take kindly to rotgut.”

“I’ll be damned if I’d give you a bottle of piss, Paddy, let alone good whiskey.” Hazlett practically spat the words.

The smile left Flynn’s face, and the eyes that had been twinkling a moment before turned iron gray and cold. The change in expression was so sudden and complete that Hazlett was startled. “I don’t want the goddamn whiskey, Hazlett,” Flynn said quietly. “In fact, I’d as soon drink piss than take anything of yours, you son of a bitch. And if you call me ‘Paddy’ again, I’m going to kill you and piss on your goddamn grave.”

Hazlett’s face turned red with rage, and he stepped toward Flynn.

“That’s enough,” snapped Colonel Percy, who appeared out of nowhere to step between the two men. “You want to get us all hanged?”

Despite their anger, both Hazlett and Flynn knew the colonel was right. After all, they were deep in enemy territory, and starting a fight now could jeopardize everything if the local constable took an interest. Already, a handful of bystanders had gathered, smelling a fight. Disappointed, they drifted away.

“This ain’t the end of it,” Hazlett said. He gave Flynn a look of pure malice, then pushed on past into the office to buy his ticket. Percy followed him in.

Pettibone and Benjamin were standing a few feet away and had witnessed the confrontation.

“You’ve just bought yourself trouble,” Pettibone said in his matter-of-fact way. “Hazlett ain’t one to let things lie.”

Flynn smiled icily. “Neither am I.”

“Hazlett don’t fight fair,” Pettibone warned. “Hell, I reckon I shouldn’t even care, considerin’ why you’re here. But if I was you, I’d watch my back.”

Benjamin stepped forward. “I’ll stand with you in a fight,” he said. He flipped back the tails of his long coat to reveal the Colt revolver in its holster. “Hazlett ain’t nothin’.”

“Lad, if there’s a fight, you keep out of it,” Flynn said. “I’ll deal with Hazlett when the time comes. I gave you that gun for shooting Yankees, and Yankees alone. And keep that damn gun out of sight. Percy’s right, the last thing we need is any more attention.”

Despite Colonel Percy’s orders to the contrary, Willie Forbes bought a bottle of whiskey. He, Hazlett and Cook sat near the river and drank it. If Percy caught them, he would be furious, especially after the incident between Hazlett and Flynn, but from where they sat they had a clear view up Main Street of anyone coming toward the river. In the distance, they could see Flynn on the sidewalk, talking with a young woman.

“That goddamn Flynn is plenty full of himself,” Hazlett said, then took a long pull from the bottle.

“I reckon we’re drinking his whiskey, by rights,” Forbes said.

“Shut up, Willie,” Hazlett said. “You want me to tell Percy you got a drunk on? He’ll skin you alive.”

Forbes snickered. He was a small man, and the whiskey was already going to his head. “He’ll be madder than hell.”

“Then you best shut up.”

Hazlett watched Flynn cross Main Street in the distance. He hated uppity Irishmen. To him, the Irish were a threat. They came here with nothing and worked for next to nothing, taking jobs from decent Americans. And some of them were smart, oh so goddamn smart, like that bastard Flynn. He didn’t know his place. Already, it was easy to see how much the colonel favored him.

Hazlett had an idea. He flipped a coin at Forbes.

“Willie, go get me another bottle of whiskey.”

“If the colonel finds out—”

“You let me worry about the colonel.”

Forbes scurried off, and Hazlett smiled. He had an idea that would take Flynn down a notch or two.

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.