"Gettysburg?" Greer said, astonished. "Why, that's several hours' ride from here."
"Then we had better get moving, Mr. Greer," the president said. "We'll have to take our time in the dark."
Night was already beginning to fall, cloaking the mountains around them. Only the very highest of the peaks stood out against the fading sunset. Oscar Schmidt began to light the lanterns that hung from the Lord Baltimore. Despite the force of the collision, there was little damage to the B&O's new locomotive. Even more miraculous was the fact that the train had not derailed.
"Mr. President, sir, why did no one tell me you were aboard? How did you expect to get to Gettysburg?" Greer asked.
The president held up a hand. "All in good time. Now let's talk about how I'm to complete my journey. I have to be in Gettysburg tomorrow to help dedicate the new national cemetery."
They quickly agreed upon a course of action. Once Greer explained the route the president must take to reach Gettysburg, Major Rathbone gave orders. Greer was glad to let someone else take charge. A feeling of exhaustion settled over him, weighing down his arms and legs. But it was not yet time to rest.
"Mr. Greer, we would appreciate it if you and Captain Lowell would stay here and continue to search for the remaining raiders," Major Rathbone said. "Colonel Percy does not seem to be among the dead."
According to the lawyer, Prescott, three raiders had escaped, including Colonel Percy, and they had taken one of the passengers with them, a woman who had agreed to stay aboard to care for a wounded Rebel officer, now dead. On foot, here in the mountains, Greer doubted they had gone far and was sure he and the remaining soldiers could quickly track them down.
Oscar Schmidt would operate the train carrying the president to Gettysburg. Prescott would accompany them, as would two soldiers. Schmidt would reverse the Lord Baltimore all the way beyond Harpers Ferry to Weverton. From there, a branch line of the B&O known as the Washington County Railroad would carry them north to the Western Maryland Railroad at Hagerstown, and from that Maryland town to Gettysburg. Barring any unforeseen problems, they would reach Gettysburg by morning, hopefully in time for the president to make his speech as part of the dedication ceremony.
“Getting to Gettysburg by morning will not be easy. Not with having to backtrack through these mountains," Schmidt said. He looked as tired as Greer felt as he climbed up to the cab of the locomotive. "But we must try.
The men standing to one side of the tracks were so involved in making plans that they did not see Percy emerge from the underbrush. He crouched and held himself very still, his Colt revolver at the ready, his gray suit nearly blending with the late autumn twilight. He had hidden himself there seconds before the two trains collided. Helplessly, he had watched Pettibone die making a valiant last stand, then seen the Yankees slaughter the engine crew.
As he saw his men killed, it was all Percy could do not to make a wild, desperate attack, but he knew that would only be throwing his life away. Crouching there in the darkness, Percy considered giving up and trying to slip away. No one would blame him. But he could not do that. Five of his men had died for the sake of this mission, and he would see it carried out — or die himself in the attempt. It was his duty.
Seeing his men cut down by the Yankees left him feeling hollow and empty. They were his men, and he had led them to their deaths.
Some might call what the Yankees had done murder, considering the raiders were not given a chance to surrender. Percy was reluctant to put a name to it, because he had seen the same killing done many times before. This was war. It was a cruel and brutal business. Besides, what would someone call what he was about to do?
Assassination was just another word for murder.
Percy held his breath as he edged away from the shelter of the brush and edged closer to the tracks and the engine the pursuers had ridden. He had seen the president come out of the car, but there were too many soldiers milling around for him to have a chance with a mad rush at Lincoln. He would have to be stealthy.
The conductor, Yankee captain and the president himself stood on the other side of the tracks, screened from view by the iron hulk of the locomotive. Several soldiers stood nearby. If the Yankees spotted him now, he would be shot to pieces.
The Lord Baltimore was just a few yards away, still under steam, and he ran toward it in a crouch. It was dark, but lanterns now cast a circle of light around the locomotive. No one was guarding the train itself. Most of the soldiers were busy hunting Percy's remaining raiders. The nearest Yankee was a dead one, his a mangled body cut in two by the train's massive iron wheels.
A stone clattered under Percy's foot, but he kept going. No turning back now. Those few yards were the longest he had ever run. It felt like crossing half a mile of open country. At every step he kept expecting a shout to go up or to feel the thump of a bullet between his shoulder blades.
The train was ten feet away. Five. Percy reached the train unnoticed and slid beneath the tender. He was safe for the moment, out of sight.
It was obvious, now that the raid was over, that the president would be leaving. Percy just wasn't sure whether Lincoln would go on to Gettysburg or return to Baltimore. All that Percy knew for certain was that the President of the United States of America would not spend the night in a Godforsaken stretch of mountains with only a handful of tired soldiers to guard him — not when Rebel cavalry patrols might be just miles away. No, Lincoln would be leaving, and wherever the president went, Percy would go, too. His orders were to bring Lincoln to Richmond or shoot him. His mission had reached the point where assassination was the only option.
From between the tender's wheels, he chanced a look at the president. He stood head and shoulders above the other men, but he was too far away and surrounded by too many men for a clear shot. All the men except Lincoln had guns in their hands.
There must be another way. Percy studied the underside of the tender above him and quickly made up his mind.
The bottom of the tender was not even two feet above the tracks. The car had been strongly built to carry huge loads of coal, and the underbelly was crisscrossed by a framework of wooden beams. Percy intended to hide in that framework. Someone glancing under the tender would never see him.
Percy was able to work his body into a space between two beams that ran the length of the car. Another wooden stringer ran the width of the car to create a kind of shelf. There was just enough room to wedge himself between the makeshift shelf and the floor of the car above. It was an incredibly tight squeeze, and he wasn't sure that he would ever be able to get himself out again. Still, he had to try.
Voices.
The sound of talking men came closer. He heard men walking toward the locomotive and tender. Get small, he told himself. Get very small. He gave a final grunt, squeezed, and was suddenly jammed into place as tight as a walnut in its shell. Percy held himself still as boots crunched on the gravel just feet away from him.
"I'd like to stay for the hanging," said a voice, so close it could have been in Percy's ear. "I want to see that Reb colonel get what he deserves."
"I've seen enough men die for one day," the other soldier said, then spat a gob of tobacco juice on the rail near Percy's head. It landed inches away with a wet splat. "I'll be glad to leave."
Once the men climbed aboard, Percy squirmed in hopes of settling into a more comfortable position, but it was impossible — iron rivets dug into his back no matter what he tried. Wherever they were going, it was going to be a cramped, miserable ride, but when the train stopped, he planned to settle this business once and for all. He vowed that he would make sure his men had not died for nothing.