We counted fifteen artillerymen, give or take, plus whatever crew remained aboard the engine.
“We outnumber them,” Julian remarked.
“Perhaps,” Sam said. “But they’re conspicuously better-armed.”
“But we have the element of surprise.”
“Are you suggesting we engage the Dutch artillery?”
“I’m suggesting we have a duty not to let those shells fall on American soldiers, if we can help it.”
That was a bold but bracing declaration, and it pleased some in our company who were anxious to make the Dutch pay a price for inconveniencing us with their war, and for the cowardly act of shooting Captain Glasswood through the ear. Sam smiled. “Well said. But we have to be clever about it, Julian, not just belligerent. What would you do, if it was your command?”
“Capture the train,” Julian said.
The company of us had all gathered around, and some grinned at this, though Major Lampret scowled and shook his head.
“That’s an objective,” Sam said patiently, “not a plan. Tell me your plan.”
Julian took a moment to assess the situation, peering at the train and the surrounding landscape. “Post most of our company on that lip overlooking the ridge where the tall trees are—do you see? We can conceal ourselves and make every shot count, which is important, given our limited munitions; and from there we can range in on anyone who hasn’t deliberately taken cover.”
“Thus employing the element of surprise,” Sam said.
“Surprise and distraction. We could leave a couple of men here, to make some sort of demonstration, and draw the attention of the Dutch in exactly the wrong direction.”
The two of them discussed the idea at length, with others in the company chiming in with suggestions. Then Sam said: “It might work. I think it will work, if we execute it correctly. But that would leave us in possession of a train containing a Chinese Cannon—what do we do with it once we have it?”
“Drive it down toward Chicoutimi,” said Julian.
“For what purpose?”
“It depends on the state of the fighting. If the rail happens to cross into territory held by our forces, we can deliver the Cannon to them—and be feted as heroes, no doubt. Failing that, we can destroy the Cannon and render it useless to the Dutch.”
“Destroy it how?”
“Put some sort of fuse on those shell-casings and blow it all up, I suppose. We might even turn the entire train into a sort of bomb—set it on fire and send it hurtling into Chicoutimi.”
“Hard on us, though, that scenario.”
“We can leap off at the closest approach to our lines, and make our way home.” Julian smiled. “If nothing else, it might save us a few miles walking.”
It was that humble suggestion that clinched the issue. We were all tired of walking, and the idea of riding a captured enemy train even halfway home was a pleasant one to contemplate.
All of us agreed to the plan, at least tacitly, except Major Lampret, who insisted that we were lunatics and mutineers for undertaking this battle without his consent, and that there would be “consequences” if we carried it out, assuming we weren’t all killed by our own foolishness. But Lampret’s credibility had been so thoroughly undercut that he was easy to ignore.
I was in favor of the attack, and my only disappointment when it was approved was that Lymon Pugh and I were assigned to provide the “useful distraction.”
I asked Sam what he wanted us to do.
“Wait here until the rest of us are in place. I’ll signal you when it’s time to begin the proceedings.”
“Begin them how, though?”
“Just make a noise of some kind—nothing too belligerent, just something that will draw all eyes. It needn’t be anything fancy—the firing will commence at once.”
The Dutchmen were beginning to harness up their mules, so we had to move quickly. Lymon and I watched the other men of the company scuttle away, backs bent and weapons ready, to their hiding places a few hundred yards to the east.
Lymon said, “You’d better orchestrate this thing, Adam. I don’t know how to distract a Dutch soldier, except by shooting at him. Maybe you can call out to them in their own language.”
“Perhaps I would, except I don’t speak it.”
“You have that letter you bought from Langers’s Lucky Mug. I’ve seen you reading it over and over.”
“But not for the sense of it. And I can only guess at the pronunciation, based on what I’ve heard from Dutch prisoners. They wouldn’t believe me for a second.”
“They don’t have to believe you—Sam’s instruction was only that we should obtain their attention.
Look there!—Sam is already waving his hand—I believe the time is ripe—go on, Adam, call out to them !”
I was flustered by the rapid progression of events, and I could think of nothing to do except to adopt Lymon Pugh’s suggestion.
I cleared my throat.
“Louder!” Lymon said. “Make yourself heard!”
I cupped my hands around my mouth and cried out, “Lieftse Hannie!”
“What’s that mean?” Lymon asked.
“I don’t know!”
“They can’t hear you. Wasn’t there something about Americans being no better than dogs?”
I racked my brain.
“Fikkie mis ik ook!”
I shouted, so loudly that the obdurate syllables pricked my throat like thorns.
“Lieftse Hannie! Fikkie mis ik ook!”
That did the trick. For one fragile moment—a fraction of time as motionless as a bug in amber—every Dutch soldier looked in my direction, and each one wore an identical expression, of confusion bordering on bewilderment.
Then a barrage of rifle fire began to cut them down.
* * *
At the end of the ambush we had taken a two-car train, a Chinese Cannon, and three prisoners, and left a score of dead Mitteleuropan soldiers scattered about. The prisoners consisted of an artilleryman and two civilian engineers. They were not cooperative, and had to be bound and tied.
Everything that had been taken from the train we put back in place. (None of the heavy parts of the Chinese Cannon had yet been unhitched.) This was indeed a fine haul, if we could get it into American hands. Fortunately one of the men of our company—a long-haired mechanic named Penniman, from Lake Champlain—had studied trains, and understood the theory of steam-driven engines well enough that he could discern the use of the controls even though they were labeled in a foreign language. While he got up pressure in the boilers the rest of us policed the area, collecting Dutch rifles and pistols from their former owners. Then Julian and I went to join Sam in the cab of the engine, while the rest of the company found room for themselves in the heavily loaded boxcars. [We were forced to evict the mules.]
This had all gone very smoothly, and would have been a complete triumph except that, as it turned out, one of the Dutch soldiers had been “playing dead,” and had secreted his rifle beneath his apparently lifeless body. Just as soon as Penniman released the brake and the train began to move, this troublesome Mitteleuropan grabbed up his weapon and fired on us. Bullets flew through the cab, and Penniman was lightly injured. Sam cursed and took up his own rifle. He leaned around the coal hopper and fired three shots. I thrust out my head long enough to see the Dutch rifleman retreat into a thicket of skeletal, leafless trees.
We would have kept on rolling without further incident, I suppose, since the artilleryman could hardly have followed us, except that the door on the rear boxcar rolled open and Major Lampret popped out of it, shooting his own rifle wildly. “Brake up!” Sam cried disgustedly, and Penniman did so. The train vented steam-clouds into the cold air.