Chapter 20
Ten miles beyond the Monocacy River, Colonel Percy ordered a halt. They had been racing across the countryside, but there was no evidence that anyone was still giving chase. The sky behind them was clear and blue, unstained by the smoke from a pursuing locomotive.
"Keep up a full head of steam, boys, and be prepared to leave at a moment's notice," he said to the engineer and fireman. "The next bunch to come after us might have more guns."
"We're low on water, sir," Cephas Wilson reminded him.
"We'll stop the first chance we get," Percy said.
The colonel jumped down from the locomotive. He wasn't happy about stopping, but he really had no other choice. It was a gambler's calclass="underline" race on toward the Potomac River crossing at Harpers Ferry, hoping everything held together, or stop and reassess. He chose the latter, mainly because they had been too lucky so far and there was no reason to stretch that luck to the breaking point. There were still many miles between them and the safety of the Shenandoah Valley.
Hazlett stuck his head out an open window and called out as Percy passed, "What's happening, Colonel?"
"Get out here, Hazlett," Percy shouted back. "Leave Pettibone to guard the passengers. I need Forbes out here, too, to cut some wires while we're stopped."
Walking a little further, Percy yelled similar instructions to Flynn. The men wasted no time getting outside the cars. Percy put Willie Forbes to work cutting telegraph wires. Considering the wreckage created when the pursuing engine derailed, the soldiers back at the Monocacy River had not likely telegraphed a warning message ahead. Still, there was no way of knowing for certain whether or not the telegraph was functional. It was in the raiders' best interest to disrupt communications whenever possible, which was what Forbes was now doing as he shimmied up a pole with a large Bowie knife clenched between his teeth.
Satisfied that Forbes was doing what he could to sever the telegraph lines, the colonel turned to Hazlett and Flynn. He noticed the two men stood some distance apart, regarding each other with barely contained hatred.Under different circumstances, he was sure they would be at each other's throats. Percy was not happy that these two men had decided to make enemies of each other, but he did not have time to play peacemaker.
"We'll put the passengers off here," Percy said. "We don't seem to be near anyplace in particular, so I doubt they can do us much harm by spreading the alarm. Harpers Ferry is only a few miles off, and once we make it across the river, the Yankees don't have much chance of catching us."
Hazlett nodded toward Forbes, high up on a pole. "We're a little late with those wires, Colonel. Those soldiers back at the Monocacy crossing will have warned the Yankees at Harpers Ferry that we're coming. They'll have quite a reception for us, to be sure."
"We haven't much choice," Percy said. "It's the only way across the Potomac. It's just a chance we'll have to take."
"Besides, we've already got their president," Flynn said. "They can try to stop the train, but we'll still be able to put a bullet in Honest Abe. Of course, that's only a last resort."
"I say kill him now and get it over with," Hazlett said, sneering. "If ever there was a Yankee that deserved killing, it's him."
"We have our orders," Percy said, wanting to put an end to the discussion. "We will do your duty."
"We'll all get killed," Hazlett replied.
"It's vital that we at least try to get President Lincoln to Richmond," Percy said, unhappy that his cousin-in-law was putting him on the defensive. "It could turn the tide of the war. The South might yet be victorious, or at least be in a position to negotiate a favorable peace with the North."
Flynn noted the tension between the two men. The colonel was intent on doing his duty but Hazlett wanted the easy way out. Of course, if the Yankees caught up with them they would have a problem even carrying out an assassination.
"You heard the colonel," he said. "We have our orders."
Hazlett snarled at him. "Who are you, Irish, to be reminding us about our orders?"
"You're the one who keeps forgetting them."
The scar on Hazlett's face flared red. If the two men had been alone, they would have come to blows, or worse. Percy didn't give them the opportunity. "All right. That's enough of that. We've got Yankees to fight, not each other."
At that moment, they heard a shout from the last car of the train. "Colonel!" It was John Cook, waving urgently.
Instinctively, all three men reached for their guns, expecting trouble.
"Come on," Percy said, and they ran to the back of the train.
There, they found Cook kneeling beside the unconscious lieutenant. The rough bandage around Cater's head was crimson with fresh blood, and the floor of the train platform was stained red.
"What happened?" Percy demanded.
"Them fools chasin' us had a shotgun, Colonel," Cook said. "Must of been loaded with buck and ball. The lieutenant done got shot in the head. He ain't come to since."
Flynn knelt beside the wounded officer. He had done his share of doctoring, both in and out of the army, and he pried up the bandage with skilled fingers to inspect the wound.
He saw an ugly gash, still oozing blood. Head wounds always bled horribly, and as bad as this wound looked, the lieutenant must have lost a lot of blood. Flynn saw none of the telltale clear liquid of a brain wound, which would likely have killed Cater outright, anyhow. The shotgun ball must have burrowed under the skin and gouged a furrow along the curve of the bone. The skull had been rapped awfully hard, maybe even fractured, which explained why Cater remained unconscious. The lieutenant moaned and Flynn took his hand away, easing the bandage back into place. A fresh rivulet of blood leaked from beneath the cloth and ran down Cater's face.
"He needs a doctor," Flynn announced. "If he doesn't get help soon, he'll die."
"Let's leave him with the passengers when we put them off," Hazlett said. "We can't be burdened with a wounded man."
"No," Percy spoke abruptly. "We'll take him with us."
Hazlett began to protest. "But Colonel—”
"Shut up, Hazlett." Percy knew he was being overly harsh, but he was in no mood to debate with the sergeant. If Hazlett hadn't been his cousin-in-law, he would have rid himself of such a compassionless man a long time ago. Lieutenant Cater was like a younger brother to Percy. He would not listen to any talk of abandoning him to the Yankees. He wouldn't be able to face Cater's family back home in Fauquier County if he did that, much less himself. "We're not leaving him here so the Yankees can doctor him up, then hang him. We'll take him with us. You two go see if there's anything in that baggage car you can use to make a stretcher. We'll carry him up to one of the passenger cars."
"Yes, sir," Hazlett said in an exaggerated fashion.
"Goddamnit, just get it done. We're wasting time."
Trying to control his anger at Hazlett, Percy watched the two sergeants go. They walked carefully apart, not talking. Side by side, the Irishman was bigger, but Hazlett had a lean toughness about him, like a hickory post.
"There's bad blood between them two," said Cook, who also was watching the men walk off. "Sooner or later, one is goin' to shoot the other."
Percy grunted. Secretly, he would not mind being rid of his cousin-in-law. The thought gave him a twinge of guilt, thinking of all the tight places he and Hazlett had been through. He owed the man something, for all that. He forced all such thoughts out of his mind, however, because at the moment he had other worries.