When the train did stop in a gout of steam, a tall figure in black and wearing a stovepipe hat appeared. The crowd cheered. The president waved, then moved on to greet the local dignitaries waiting at the station. The one-eyed man watched in surprise.
Abraham Lincoln? He was puzzled. Then he found himself swept up by the crowd as it surged after the president, caught like a twig in a swirling river.
Chapter 18
Colonel Percy reached the passenger car just as Flynn and Pettibone carried out Charlie Gilmore's body.
"What the hell is going on?" Percy demanded.
Flynn held the feet and Pettibone carried the corpse by the shoulders, trying not to get any of Gilmore's blood and gore on his expensive civilian suit of clothes. Gilmore's eyes stared out from his head, which bumped against Pettibone's knees.
"We had a mutiny, Colonel," Flynn explained. "It was bound to happen, and it will happen again as long as we have passengers on this train."
Flynn and Pettibone balanced on the platform, swung the body between them to give it momentum — once, twice, three times — then launched it far beyond the tracks, where Gilmore's corpse rolled and flopped down a hillside.
"Goddamnit, Flynn, you've got to stop killing the passengers," Percy said, sounding annoyed.
"I only kill the ones who try to kill me first," Flynn replied.
"They'll have us in all the Northern newspapers as a bunch of bloodthirsty killers."
"Well, they're sure as hell not going to describe us as heroes in The New York Times," Flynn pointed out. "We did kidnap their president, after all."
"We can still conduct ourselves with honor," Percy said.
Flynn stared at him, surprised. "You really do believe all this business about honor and glory, don't you? Even after two years of fighting. It's all moonlight and magnolias to you, isn't it?"
"Take away everything else a man has, Flynn, and in the end all he's left with is his honor. I didn't ask to be sent on this raid but I'm going to do my duty. I'm going to see it through."
Pettibone was looking at the colonel with proud, shining eyes and Flynn thought, there's another one. These Southerners were consumed by their notions of honor and glory. It was what had gotten them into this war in the first place. He thought of the money hidden away in the baggage car and his plans for it, and felt just a bit ashamed.
"You're a good man, Colonel," Flynn said. "I just hope we all live to see tomorrow."
By now the locomotive had reached the foot of Parr's Ridge and the train was slowing perceptibly as the engine struggled on the steep grade. Mountains on the horizon ahead were visible as a blue blur, like distant waves.
Percy nodded behind them, where the smoke trail of the pursuing train was plainly visible. "We might have a bit more trouble soon and not just from the passengers. They've sent a train after us."
Flynn leaned out from between the cars and peered into the distance. The advance column of smoke had the look of something serious. "That they have. Will they catch us?"
"There's always a chance," Percy said. "But this locomotive is fast, and we're far ahead of them."
The three men returned to the car. Hazlett had already gone back to his own car. Captain Fletcher still had his Colt out, ready to shoot anyone who moved. As a consequence, the passengers sat rigid as stone in their seats, staring at the revolver's muzzle. Even Mrs. Henrietta Parker was no longer hysterical, but glared indignantly at the raiders while her husband murmured in her ear in the same way he might soothe a spirited horse. Somehow, he was managing to keep in check the tongue-lashing the woman obviously wanted to give her captors.
William Prescott was slumped in a seat, rubbing the back of his head and looking suitably cowed. Nellie Jones sat demurely. Flynn caught her eye and gave her a wink. She pretended not to notice.
Benjamin was massaging his side. He winced as he touched a tender spot. "I believe that fat man done cracked my ribs," he announced.
Colonel Percy took in the scene, his eyes lingering on the blood-streaked ceiling. The situation with the passengers, he thought, had gone too far. Already, three were dead. Killing innocent civilians would not play well, he knew, in the court of public opinion. To make matters worse, he knew Flynn was probably right when he said it wasn't over yet. Percy decided he would put all the passengers off the next time they stopped because there was no longer any reason to worry about them warning the Yankees. Judging by the trail of smoke behind them, the Yankees already knew. Meanwhile, he would do what he could to make certain there would be no more violence.
Percy raised his voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, listen to me. We will abide no more trouble from you. This man— " he nodded at Captain Fletcher, who looked savage enough with the pistol in his hand “ — will shoot anyone who leaves his — or her — seat. Rest assured, however, that we have no desire to keep hostages. You'll all be put off the next time we stop."
"Stranded," hissed Mrs. Parker. Wide-eyed, her husband squeezed her arm to silence her. Percy stood for a moment, glaring at the woman. The tension was broken when Hank Cunningham burst through the door, his face a mask of sweat-streaked ash.
"Colonel, the engineer needs you," he said urgently.
Percy looked calmly around at the passengers. "Remember that you've been warned," he said, then turned and walked out. Once he and Cunningham were alone on the platform, Percy demanded, "What's so goddamn important that it couldn't wait, Hank?"
The fireman pointed behind them. Compared to how fast she had been going, the Chesapeake had slowed to what was virtually a crawl as she struggled up the Parr's Ridge grade. Smoke from the pursuing train had crept much closer.
"They're gaining on us, all right," Percy said, seeing at once why Cunningham had come to get him. "Come on."
Together, they made their way back over the tender to the engine. Wilson was busy hovering over the controls and cursing, but there was nothing he could do to make the locomotive pull any harder or faster up the slope.
"They'll catch us at this rate, Colonel."
Percy looked back. The grade was so steep he could now see the tops of the other cars below him. Suddenly, the pursuing engine came into view. He recognized the old, so-called Grasshopper engine they had passed on the siding and cursed himself for not stopping to disable it somehow. It was chugging along quickly enough, just the engine and tender, flying over the flat plain that led to Parr's Ridge.
"Damn," he said. "We may be in for trouble."
"Now we've got them!" Greer shouted into the wind as the Chesapeake appeared ahead, creeping up the steep slope of Parr's ridge.
Schmidt and Frost whooped with him. Finally, they had caught up to the train.
Now that the locomotive was in sight, Greer had some doubts about what to do if it came to a fight. He and Schmidt were armed with a shotgun and a revolver from the Grasshopper engine's crew, but that gave them just two guns while the raiders had revolvers — and would use them. The train thieves were killers and they had shot at Greer and his crew the last time they got close.
In their favor, however, Greer was convinced there weren't many men aboard the train. Otherwise, Greer reasoned, the thieves would have stood and fought the last time he and his men caught up. In hindsight, it was good the thieves hadn't stopped, because the fight would have been decidedly one-sided, considering the only weapon Greer had then was the shotgun. They were still lightly armed, but Greer was too exhilarated to be cautious.
"Give her everything she's got," he shouted to Schmidt, but the command was unnecessary. The engineer already had the throttle wide open. The locomotive caught the grade and the drive wheels churned up the incline, hot on the trail of the raiders.