David Healey - Rebel Train

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

“Look at all them Yankees,” Hazlett said. “We can’t steal the damn train now. Ain’t that right, Colonel?”

Percy appeared not to have heard. He was busy studying the Yankee camp across the river. When he finally spoke, it was to give orders: “Captain Cater, take Private Cook with you and go to the rear of the train and get up on the last car. If anyone chases us, they’ll try to jump on the back. Don’t let them.”

“That’s Mr. Lincoln’s car, sir.”

“Yes, but don’t worry yourself about that. Lincoln and whoever else is with him will stay holed up in that car like gophers, which is just where we want them. No one is supposed to know they’re aboard, remember? Lincoln isn’t about to show himself.”

Percy quickly gave the rest of his orders. He sent Cephas Wilson and Hank Cunningham to the locomotive and told them to get the train underway. He ordered Hazlett, Forbes and Pettibone aboard the tender, to help the railroad men in any way they needed.

“If there’s any shooting that needs doing, you men take care of it and let those two run the train,” Percy said.

“What about us, Colonel, sir?” Flynn asked when he found that he, Benjamin and Fletcher were the only ones left on the platform with Percy.

“Fletcher, you and I will take the first passenger car,” Percy said. He nodded at Flynn and Benjamin. “You two take the second car. If any of the passengers cause trouble, shoot them.”

“All right,” Flynn said. He looked toward the Yankee soldiers on the platform. “What about the guards?”

“Hudson will take care of them.”

The massive driving wheels of the Chesapeake began to move, and a fresh gout of smoke filled the air. Inside the locomotive’s cab, Cunningham opened the blower and increased the air flow to the locomotive’s firebox so the wood could burn hotter.

The train was still under steam, and using both hands, Wilson took hold of the Johnson bar, which was about three feet tall and jutted straight up from the floor of the locomotive right beside the engineer’s seat. He shoved it forward, putting his weight into it, and the train began to roll.

He pulled back the two-foot long throttle lever, gave the locomotive a burst of steam, then shoved the throttle forward again, shutting off the steam. He repeated this action three times, which got the locomotive rolling more effectively than opening the throttle wide open. That would only have caused the wheels to slip uselessly on the rails. Still, the driving wheels spun as they sought purchase on the well-polished rails. Wilson reached up and pulled a handle at the end of a long bar which ran the length of the locomotive to the sand box atop the forward end. Tubes ran down the sides of the locomotive, spitting sand on the rails just in front of the wheels to give them traction.

As the train began to move, Flynn ran for the second car with Benjamin close behind him. The boy had already pulled out the Colt Navy revolver, and Flynn stopped and gently laid a hand on the gun before they reentered the coach.