*****
2nd of May, 1862
The Trestle Bridge
Weston, Lewis County, Virginia
Mary clung low on the railroad embankment watching to the north, as most of the rebel band worked at destroying the Trestle Bridge. This wasn’t going as smoothly as they had expected, the trestle bridge was proving much harder to destroy than they had planned. The trestles were too wet to burn due to the ceaseless rains and heavy mist that clung to the river, and the construction was typical Railroad Company Construction. The massive trestle timbers felt more like rock than like wood. Their attack on the telegraph lines earlier had gone much better, but then telegraph lines tended to be much more fragile than railroad trestle bridges.
The predawn gloom and heavy fog made it almost impossible to see anything but at least the fog muffled the sounds of the sledgehammers hitting the joints on the railroad bridge.
Unfortunately, it also muffles the sound of the approaching Yankee cavalry.
As soon as Mary saw the vague forms moving through the fog to the north she leveled her Walker revolver and fired one shot at the vague figure in the lead. She frantically re-cocked the heavy pistol and tried another shot as the cavalrymen kicked their horses to a gallop.
The hammer jammed as she pulled the trigger.
Heart pounding, she jumped and skidded down the muddy embankment to go warn the others, only to find far more cavalry had already come up from the south. She looked frantically for an escape but the cordon was completely around them and there were no gaps to run through. There must have been forty Union Soldiers surrounding her little band of eight.
It was obviously hopeless, so like the rest of her band, she simply dropped her revolver to the ground and raised her hands in surrender, her broad brim cap and shapeless clothes hiding her sex for the moment.
The Union Soldiers began separating men, taking and stripping them in a search for weapons. Mary desperately looked for an escape. She’d heard terrifying stories of what happened to unfortunate female guerrillas who’d fallen into Union hands.
Looking for salvation Mary glimpsed a familiar face. It certainly wasn’t a face she would have thought she would ever want to see again; right now it gave her the only hope she had.
He rode past her watching the proceedings.
Keeping her voice low she hoarsely whispered. “Lieutenant.”
He didn’t turn at all; she couldn’t believe could he couldn’t hear her.
She tried again. “Lieutenant!”
He still didn’t turn. As a last act of desperation, she called him by the name that the others had always used.
“Jeremiah.”
He finally turned and she saw the twin bars of Captain’s rank on his uniform.
He peered toward her through the darkness, trying to make out her face, obviously confused as to why anyone would use his given name.
Hesitating, he reached out slowly with one gloved hand as if he was not only uncertain but fearful of the consequences. Before he could do so, she reached up and raise the brim of her hat with her own two hands.