1863
The locomotive sped silently past Union Colonel Malcolm McClellan, whose blank stare belied his shock. No whistle pierced the air. No smoke billowed from the massive steam engine. No vibration shook the ground. A chill breeze had stirred the silence and set him gazing to the northeast through the mounting dusk. Otherwise, he would have missed the Stonewall Jackson altogether. Summer granted no chilling breezes. Malcolm looked down the line at his men, huddled behind the trees at their makeshift camp in northern Virginia.
“Did you see that, colonel?” Clayton asked, his voice as shaken as the air. “That sucker just busted on through. Didn’t slow down a mite.” The men had spent the previous night pulling up a large section of track. Any normal train would have ground to a halt or derailed.
“It didn’t need to slow down, Clay,” Malcolm said. “It seems to have levitated.” Malcolm stared at the empty horizon where the train had sliced through at breakneck speed. His heart raced.
“Pardon me, colonel, but what does that mean?” Jack asked.
“I believe the train flew, gentlemen.” Malcolm stooped and picked up a rock. He flung it in the direction the train had sped.
Jack collapsed to his knees. “Good Lord, colonel. I’d figure I was crazy if we hadn’t all seen the same thing. We did all see the same thing?” He looked at his fellow soldiers, who all nodded. “You think that was the ghost train, colonel?”
Malcolm drew in a deep breath, and then blew it out with a cough. “I’m sure of it.” He helped Jack to his feet. Rampant rumors of the ghost train had circulated for months, but actually seeing it had caught Malcolm unaware. His stomach churned.
“So, what do we do now, colonel?” Henry’s voice squeaked. “Want William and me to mount up and follow the train?”
Malcolm removed his hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “I don’t believe you could catch it, not at the speed that train was traveling. Our orders from General Meade were to intercept the train, and since we can’t derail it, I’d like to try to get on it. I think the only way to do that is to entice it to stop.”
“What you think that train’ll stop for, colonel? Dancing girls?” Jack chuckled nervously.
Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “No, Jack. I’m no expert on ghosts, but I imagine the only thing that can stop that train is death. If I had to guess, I’d say the Stonewall Jackson is some kind of latter-day death carriage collecting newly minted souls. And there are plenty of them these days on both sides of the conflict, though being a Confederate train, I doubt it would take kindly to our Yankee souls.” Malcolm’s men looked back at him with questioning stares.
“I hope you’re not suggesting one of us volunteer to be a casualty, colonel.” William glanced sideways at Malcolm.
“No, William, I’m suggesting we pose as casualties.”
Again, all four men looked puzzled.
“This time tomorrow, we’ll stage a scene right here where we tore up the tracks. We’ll make it look like we were ambushed trying to fix the ties. Just William and me. We can smear some rabbit blood on our clothes and lie by the tracks. The rest of you can stand watch from behind the trees.”
“In your blue uniforms, they’ll know you’re Union, colonel,” Henry said. “Only Rebs would be trying to fix Confederate tracks.”
“We won’t be in uniform, Henry.”
“Surely not just in your skivvies, colonel.”
Malcolm smiled. “I’m afraid so.” He patted the lieutenant’s shoulder, and the churning in his stomach calmed as his plan coalesced.
“Then what, colonel?” William asked. “When they see we’re not dead, what’s to keep them from making it so?”
Malcolm squinted into the afternoon sun. “I don’t know, William, but if they think we’re Rebs, we shouldn’t be in immediate danger.” He half grinned. “You’ve been wounded before, haven’t you, Lieutenant?”
“Yessir, at Antietam.”
“So was I, at Gettysburg. I still have pain in my shoulder, and I’ve seen you favor your right leg. I believe we can seem wounded in a way that would fool the ghosts. From what little I know about them, ghosts aren’t typically violent. They’ll stop to pick up dead recruits, but I don’t think they’d do us any harm once they see we’re still alive.”
“Colonel McClellan, sir, pardon me, but I think you’re assuming a lot about the nature of ghosts, when you’ve never even met one.”
“They were once people just like us, William. Follow my lead. I did Shakespeare at the Point.” Malcolm smiled. “There’s something about performing that frees a man.”
“Pardon me, colonel, but I’m no actor. I’m not sure they’d believe me, sir.” William removed his cap and twisted it in his hands. “I’ve never been a good liar, and I think they’d see right through me.”
“Well, that should even the odds, William, since you’ll be able to see right through them,” Henry said. “You know, them being ghosts and all.”
The men chuckled, and Malcolm nodded. “All right, then, William. If you feel you’d be a liability, join the other men. You can all be my audience.”
“You sure you want to do this, colonel?” Henry asked. “I don’t know how much help we can be. I mean, you can’t shoot a ghost, right? They’re already dead.”
Malcolm looked to the northeast, where, he assumed, this time tomorrow, the train would again materialize. “If you’ve got a better idea, by all means speak up. But we don’t have much time.”
Malcolm turned from the tracks and headed back to their camp. He quickened his pace as the adrenalin pumped through his system and his plan took shape. He’d feign a head injury. That would make the most sense. He’d appear to be knocked out, and then he’d “regain consciousness” once he was aboard the train.
He thought back to his acting days at West Point. In his role as Shylock, he’d mastered the character of a miserly old moneylender. Surely he could play a wounded Confederate soldier. And if he said he was from Maryland, he wouldn’t have to affect a Southern accent, though he might need to practice a rebel yell.
Though he’d been skeptical of the ghost train’s existence, he couldn’t deny what he and his men had just seen. Over the past year, the legend of the Stonewall Jackson had become fodder for local storytellers, and the tales swirling about the inhabitants of the train had escalated from ghosts to other more dreadful creatures like vampires. Malcolm had seen evidence of diaphanous spirits on the battlefield and felt the prickle of eerie presences. He could fathom the existence of ghosts. But vampires?