David Healey - Rebel Train

“Any noise from inside?”

“No, sir,” the lieutenant said.

“What are you thinking?” Flynn asked.

“I wonder if there is anyone inside,” Percy said. “Imagine if the Yankees spun this whole crazy scheme about Lincoln sneaking into Gettysburg the back way, fed it to Norris down in Richmond, and meanwhile Lincoln is safely aboard the presidential train on the Northern Central after all, eating smoked oysters, smoking cigars, and listening to a bunch of fat Yankee carpetbaggers decide how they’ll carve up the South after the war.”

“The joke is on us, then?” Flynn asked, amazed. Percy’s scenario suddenly made sense. “I suppose we’ll have to find out if Lincoln is in there. No sense going through with this if he’s not.”

The thought of being in the middle of Maryland with just a handful of men and a stolen train was not appealing to anyone. Not when every crossroads threatened to bring an encounter with Yankee troops.

“Colonel, you want me to knock on the door?” Lieutenant Cater asked.

“Let Flynn do it,” Percy said. “If there is someone inside and they shoot through the door, we can afford to lose him better than you.” He smiled, as if to show he was only joking. Flynn didn’t find the humor in it.

“Let’s get your cousin-in-law to do it.”

“Go knock on the goddamn door, Flynn,” Percy snapped. “And make sure you stand to one side so you don’t get shot.”

Flynn climbed the iron steps, wondering how he got into these situations. He should have been back in Richmond, drinking good black market whiskey, thumping heads, and taking his pick of the whores. Instead, he might be about to get his insides filled with lead.

“Remember,” Percy hissed after him. “You’re not supposed to know it’s Lincoln.”

Flynn sighed. How was he supposed to find out if President Lincoln was inside if he couldn’t ask for him by name? He knocked on the door and shouted, “Anybody in there?”

No answer. He pounded on the door again.

Finally, a gruff voice answered from within. “What do you want?”

“The conductor wants to know if everything is all right,” Flynn said. “We’ve had trouble with raiders.”

No answer.

“Rebels,” Flynn added helpfully.

“Will there be any delay?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On how soon the engineer can get this train moving again.”

“Then you had better tell him to get to work. We have a schedule to keep.”

Flynn looked at the door, then over to Percy. The colonel raised his eyebrows in question. Flynn shrugged in reply. He still didn’t know if Lincoln was inside the car.

“Aw, hell,” he muttered, and knocked on the door again.

“What do you want now?” the voice demanded impatiently.

Flynn took a deep breath and decided to take a chance. “I’m looking for President Lincoln.”

This time there was a long, long pause. Flynn was on the verge of repeating his question, just in case it hadn’t been heard, when the voice spoke on the other side of the door.

“Who wants to know?”

Flynn decided there was no longer any point in being anything but direct. “This is Sergeant Thomas Flynn of the Confederate States of America. The train has been captured by Colonel Arthur Percy, and you are now prisoners of the Confederacy.”

The silence stretched long moments before someone spoke up. “I’m Major Rathbone, the president’s assistant,” said the voice. “What do you intend to do with us?”

“We’re taking you to Richmond,” Flynn replied. “Is President Lincoln really in there?”

A new voice spoke up. Not as deep as Rathbone’s. A tired-sounding voice. “I’m Lincoln.”

Flynn heard hands fumbling at the bolt on the other side of the door, then a hushed voice say, “No, sir. It could be a trap.” The fumbling stopped.

“I’m afraid I have no sword to surrender, Sergeant Flynn,” Lincoln said. “Therefore I won’t open the door.”

“Then have a good trip, sir,” Flynn said.

“I trust you will have a good journey as well, Sergeant.” He thought he heard Lincoln chuckle. “You realize, of course, that you’re still in the middle of Maryland. There are cavalry patrols all around. Infantry guards all the major railroad bridges and stations. Richmond is a long way off.”

“Yes, sir,” was all Flynn could think to say.

Lincoln was right, of course. They would need God himself on their side to make it to Richmond. “If you need anything, sir, there will be guards outside your car.”

“I believe we shall be just fine, Sergeant.”

Flynn climbed down and joined Percy, who had edged closer, hoping to hear some of the conversation. “Well, is it Lincoln or isn’t it?” Percy asked.

“It’s Lincoln, all right,” Flynn said. “In fact, I believe he would have come out and had a drink with us, but some fellow in there named Major Rathbone wouldn’t let him open the door.”

Percy nodded. “I’ve heard of Rathbone. He’s Lincoln’s bodyguard. It makes sense that he’d be traveling to Gettysburg with the president.”

“I guess that settles it,” Flynn said. He smiled. “You’ve got your president, Colonel. Now what?”

“On to Richmond, of course.”

The lieutenant and Private Cook returned to their post guarding the president’s car, while Percy, Flynn and Hudson started back toward the engine. They had barely come even with the baggage car when Hazlett shouted a warning. Someone was coming.

“Come on,” Percy said, and the three men started running for the front of the train.

“Get ready, boys!” Percy shouted as he ran. “Here come the Yankees!”

Flynn drew the Le Mat revolver and sprinted after Percy, whose long legs easily covered the distance to the front of the train. Forbes finished cutting the second telegraph wire and slid down the pole. As the others ran past, Forbes dropped the last few feet, nearly landing on top of Pettibone, who jumped out of the way just in time, cursing.

Benjamin poked his head out the window. “What’s all the commotion about?” he shouted.

“Cavalry, I reckon,” Flynn yelled back. “Keep an eye on those passengers, lad. If something starts with the Yankees, they’re sure to cause trouble.”

Flynn fully expected to see a troop of blue-coated cavalry coming down the Washington Road. He knew the raiders wouldn’t stand a chance, not with the train stopped. A squadron of any size would outnumber them. The best they could hope for was to hold the Yankees off long enough for the train to reach a decent speed, and then outrun them.

He wasn’t prepared for what he did see, which was a hand car carrying a crew of four startled workmen. They rolled out of the woods to the west on the opposite track.

“Hold your fire,” Percy snapped at his men.

Although the crew’s arrival was more welcome than cavalry, Percy knew they still presented a problem, for here were four men who could quickly spread word of the raid if they learned what was going on. If the workers found them out, the raiders would have no choice but to take the men prisoner, or shoot them.

“What do we do about them?” Hazlett wondered out loud.

“Let me do the talking,” Percy muttered to the knot of men who still ringed the engine, revolvers at the ready. “And put those guns away. If we start shooting, it’s only going to attract attention if there are any soldiers on the road.”

Percy approached the crew, who looked suspiciously at the Chesapeake , standing under steam at the Washington Road crossing. It was unusual for a westbound train to be stopped there. One of the crew gripped an old shotgun, which Percy supposed they kept for killing snakes