David Healey - Rebel Train

Then the track began to descend, gradually at first, then at a steeper pitch. All at once the huge weight of the Chesapeake, which had slowed the train so much as it climbed the ridge, helped the train gather speed. The locomotive’s massive driving wheels caught and spun powerfully with pent-up energy. The train surged ahead.

Up in the Chesapeake’s cab, a slow smile crept across Wilson’s face as he saw how the tracks ahead sloped downward. “Hang on, boys,” Wilson said half to himself, half out loud as he worked the locomotive’s controls. “Ain’t nobody can catch us now.”

“They’re getting away!” Greer shouted. Frustrated, he threw down the empty revolver and struggled to reload the shotgun. A flurry of gunfire still came from the train ahead, but he was as oblivious to the bullets as he might be of a few raindrops. “Come on, you two, pour it on!”

“She won’t go any faster,” Schmidt yelled in reply.

Where the climb had favored Greer’s low-geared Grasshopper locomotive, gravity was now on the Chesapeake’s side. A minute before it had appeared the pursuers were going to overtake the train, but now the gap widened. Greer cursed. Not a damn thing he could do about it, either, considering the Chesapeake was much larger and more powerful than the pursuing grasshopper locomotive.

A bullet pinged off a metal bar near his head, but Greer ignored it. Then the fire slackened as the raiders noticed they were pulling ahead. In frustration, Greer raised the shotgun and fired a parting blast. Already, the range was too great and the buckshot fell short. The man on the last car snapped off two shots in return, but the bullets punched at the air well above their heads.

“Was soll ich tun?” Schmidt asked. He looked clearly relieved that the shooting had stopped. Big as he was, the oddly constructed Grasshopper offered little shelter from bullets. Schmidt realized he had lapsed into German in his excitement and repeated, “What should I do?”

“Keep up our speed,” Greer answered. “We need to stay with them.”

“We can’t keep up with the Chesapeake ,” Schmidt complained. “Not in this old locomotive. You know that.”

“Just do as I say,” Greer growled, still clutching the shotgun. He was in no mood to argue.

The Chesapeake had won the race. She was already far ahead, the powerful drive wheels churning, smoke pouring from her funnel in a thick plume bent nearly horizontal by the wind of her own passage. The land was leveling out as the dueling locomotives left Parr’s Ridge behind and entered the plain that led to the Monocacy River. Just a few miles beyond lay the mighty Potomac and the crossing at Harpers Ferry.

If the raiders ever got that far. Greer was convinced the soldiers garrisoned at the Monocacy River bridge would stop the stolen train, especially if a telegraph message had reached them. And if the Monocacy garrison failed there were always the guards at Harpers Ferry. If the Chesapeake made it across those two bridges, however, there wasn’t much that could keep them from running the train clear to Ohio if they wanted.

Damn the payroll money, Greer thought. It had to be what the train thieves were after. Then again, it didn’t make sense that the raiders were still running with the train, not if they had done any planning at all. A stolen train attracted a great deal of attention. Greer thought the raiders would have been better off dividing the money between themselves, abandoning the train, and then slipping quietly away into the countryside. One thing for certain, it would mean a lot less trouble for Greer if the raiders abandoned the train.

Meanwhile, he watched helplessly as the Chesapeake pulled even farther ahead.

“Pile on the wood, Frost,” Greer said. “Cram that firebox full. We ain’t beat yet.”

Aboard the Chesapeake , everything was in confusion. Colonel Percy heard the shooting begin, but couldn’t see what was happening from the locomotive cab.

“Hold your fire!” he shouted, hoping someone would hear. No sense wasting ammunition, he thought. They might need every round before the day was through.

The gunfire slackened as they crested Parr’s Ridge, and the raiders jeered at their pursuers as they fell further behind in the older engine. One or two men took parting shots at the pursuers, but the range had become too great for the revolvers to have any effect. The passengers sat through it all, looking terrified as their captors leaned out the windows and blazed away.

At the end of the train, aboard the President’s car, Private Cook knelt on the floor of the small platform, trying to make Lieutenant Cater comfortable by putting his own coat under Cater’s head as a pillow. As he looked down at the unconscious lieutenant, the gold wedding band on Cater’s left hand caught his attention. Unable to resist the temptation, Cook twisted the ring off the lieutenant’s finger and slipped it into his own pocket.

Theft was one thing, but Cook wasn’t so heartless that he wanted the lieutenant to die. He wanted to get help, but there was nothing he could do while the train was moving. The only way to reach the rest of the train was to climb the short ladder nearby and hustle across the top of Lincoln’s car and down the other side, then cross through the baggage car. He had no desire to make that dangerous trip, and he didn’t want to leave the lieutenant alone. Besides, Lincoln still needed guarding, and Colonel Percy would give him hell if he left his post.

With the pursuers still in sight, Cook wasn’t about to signal a stop. The wounded lieutenant would have to wait for help. It was bad luck that he had been wounded, but it was a chance any soldier took.

The lieutenant was still unconscious, and Cook wondered if the bullet had done more damage than he had thought. At least the worst of the bleeding had stopped. If the lieutenant was that bad off, Cook thought, maybe the colonel could put him off with the passengers at the next stop. There might at least be a country doctor somewhere along the route who could help him. If that happened, they would leave Cater behind. Cook wouldn’t have to worry about the stolen ring in his pocket being discovered.

Not that the Chesapeake would be stopping anytime soon. The engine rolled west, going faster every minute, racing toward the Monocacy River.

Captain Thaddeus Lowell, who commanded the battery guarding the Monocacy River bridge, spotted the column of smoke racing toward the crossing. He was too far from Parr’s Ridge to hear any of the shooting, and so wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary.

“She’s a comin’ on boys,” Captain Lowell said. “In a hurry, too, from the looks of it.”

Guarding the river crossing was dull duty, and the passing of a train broke the monotony of staring at the Monocacy’s muddy waters. Rebels were always causing trouble along the railroad’s western reaches, but in central Maryland, all had been quiet since Robert E. Lee’s summertime invasion months ago.

“Looks like she ain’t alone, Captain,” a gunner remarked.

The captain looked more closely. The soldier was right. There were two trails of smoke in sight, which was unusual, because engines almost always traveled alone. He squinted, trying to see what was going on. The trains were just visible in the distance. Out front was a bigger engine, probably the Chesapeake —she was due that day. The second engine was smaller and appeared to be losing ground to the first. Still, if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn the smaller engine was trying to catch the bigger one. The two trains were not traveling the safe, regulation distance apart.