Rebel in Time

Chapter 31

The storm blew itself out during the night and Saturday, October 15, dawned fresh and fair. All of the volunteers were up before dawn, ate a breakfast of hoecakes, and were on the road by first light. Copeland and Meriam rode ahead, while Troy and Shaw followed in the buggy. They made steady progress, and it was early in the afternoon when Copeland reined up his horse and pointed down the hillside.

'There it is, Harper's Ferry,' he said. 'Other side of the Potomac there, that's Maryland. After that the farmhouse is about seven miles farther on. You can see the bridge across the river, right over there.'

'Will we have to go through the town?' Shaw asked.

'Only way, unless you want to swim.'

'Then you ought to know that the slaveholders are looking for me and Troy. They could have telegraphed a description ahead to warn their people here to watch out for us. A black man and a white man in a buggy.'

'Easy enough to take care of that,' Copeland said. 'One of you changes places, goes through town on horseback.'

'Better be me,' Troy said. 'His leg is bandaged, that's why we're using the buggy.'

They rode into Harper's Ferry this way, Francis Meriam sitting next to Shaw while Troy rode Meriam's horse. The town was situated on a neck of land where the Shenandoah river joined the Potomac. This gave it a cramped appearance as the clustered homes, saloons, hotels and shops extended along the banks of both rivers and climbed up the slopes of Bolivar Heights behind. Copeland pointed out the sights as they rode along Potomac Street, busy with its traffic of horses, buggies and carts.

'See those buildings along the street here, the ones that look like factories? Well, they're not. That's the federal armoury, all stretched out, starting right after the fire-engine house. Forging here, then machine and stocking shop. The big one next is the arsenal where all the arms are stored.'

'Where is the rifle factory you were telling us about?'

'That would be Hall's Rifle Works, about a half mile further on, along that street, Shenandoah Street. See it? It's on that little island right out there in the river. Always got two sentries out in front, night and day. No one gets in or out lest they're known.'

It's in there, Troy thought, everything that I am looking for. It all has to be in there. The machines to manufacture the cartridges, the store of cartridges, maybe even the guns themselves. Assembled in there and stored there. Two men, that's not much of a guard to stand against a sudden raid.

Which raised the biggest question of all. Why had McCulloch chosen this place, of all the federal armouries, to site his illegal weapons factory? He must know enough about history to know that John Brown was going to raid here. That was a fact in all the books. It was impossible to believe that he hadn't read about it. So, knowing that the raid was coming — why, then, he must have taken precautions to prevent it. Possibly have prepared an ambush. But if it were an ambush, then John Brown would certainly have been told about it. At least one of his spies, John Cook, worked here. There could be others. It was all very unclear.

No one appeared to take any notice of them as they passed through Harper's Ferry and onto the covered bridge across the Potomac. It was a rail bridge as well and a B & O train from Washington passed them half way across, shaking the structure beneath them and puffing out clouds of smoke. Soon after crossing the bridge they turned off the turnpike and onto a country lane. Being careful that they were not followed, Copeland led them up into the foothills of the mountains, to the secret hideout. A ramshackle, two-storey farmhouse, with a kitchen garden in front. Two young girls were working there, and they waved to the men as they came up. While they were tying up their horses the front door opened and a thin man with a full white beard stepped out. His face was lined, craggy, his mouth wide and sealed into a hard slit.

'Mr Brown,' Copeland said. 'I have brought some volunteers to join you.'

'You are welcome, all of you. Come into the house and meet the others.'

He nodded grimly at each of them as they went by, no touch of a smile loosening that tight-clamped mouth. As Troy entered John Brown took him by the shoulder and said softly, 'You are joining in a holy crusade to liberate your people.' Troy nodded and went on — there was little he could answer to that.

The small rooms were crowded with men, twenty-four in all counting the newcomers. After introductions had been made, Francis Meriam dived into his carpetbag and produced his wallet.

'This is for you, Mr Brown, for the cause you so nobly lead.'

He poured out the stream of gold and John Brown clasped his hands and lowered his head.

'We must thank the Lord,' he said. 'For bringing these men — and for bringing this gold. This is a sign, an unmistakable sign that it is His will that we move now.' He looked around at the silent men, the gaze from his glaring eyes that of an avenging angel. 'The time has come to act, and we shall. On the Sabbath, the Lord's day, we will fall on the ungodly. We strike. Tomorrow! God has honoured but a comparatively very small part of mankind with any possible chance for such mighty and soul-satisfying rewards as shall be ours. We will capture the armoury and our Negro brethren will rise in their mighty wrath and strike down their captors. So shall it be.'

So shall it be, Troy thought. But how will it really be? If the soldiers were waiting in ambush this little handful of foolhardy men would be massacred. Could he stop them? More important—should he stop them? Was it possible to change history, and if he did, what would the repercussions be? McCulloch was trying to change history, to bring about the world that he wanted, to perpetuate slavery into the distant future. No!

Perhaps John Brown's inspirational sermon was affecting him as well as the others. He could now understand their emotional hatred of the institution of slavery, how they would do anything to see it destroyed. They wanted to bring about the America that he knew, that he had grown up in. It wasn't perfect, he knew that, knew also that no society or institution was. But, by God, it was infinitely better than this slave state, part of a country that was half slave and half free. Being here, living here, he could understand, not only understand but feel the causes of the dreadful war to come. No country could possibly exist like this, divided against itself. Nor would it. The terrible conflict to come would decide that. And unless he intervened the slave holders might win. The world that he had known might never exist.

That could not be—would not be! He had to make absolutely sure that never happened.

Yet, at the same time, he felt that he could not stand idly by while these good men committed suicide. He owed it to them, to the cause they all believed in, to give them some warning. It might change a footnote of history, but they deserved something better than being butchered outright.

At the earliest opportunity he sought John Brown out and drew him aside.

'Mr Brown, could I possibly talk to you for a few moments?'

'Of course, I am at your service. We can go into the kitchen, it will be quieter in there.'

They sat by the fire. John Brown looked into its depths, raised his hands to warm them there, seeing the future perhaps. Seeing his rebellion triumphant. Troy looked too, seeking a way to give his warning that did not betray the source of his knowledge.

'Do you know a Colonel McCulloch, from Richmond?'

'I know of him, though I have never met him. An evil man. I have been told that he killed one of his slaves. May the good Lord in his wrath strike him down.'

'Amen to that. But I have positive information, through an organization I work for, that McCulloch has discovered what you are planning to do. He may have laid a trap for you to fall into.'

'You are good to tell me this, but do not fear, for we walk in the protection of our Lord. Others have tried to betray us, for the best of reasons as well as the worst, but have not succeeded. I know for a fact that my good friend from Iowa, David J. Gue, has decided that we will all be killed if our plans go through. Though he has now repented his act he did indeed send a letter of warning to the Secretary of War. But this letter has been completely ignored. Now why should that be? Only one reason, my son. We stand in the palm of the Lord and he does protect us. I thank you for this attempt to warn us of the machinations of this man of evil. But he shall not prevail. The plans have been made, the troops assembled, the arms ready. We march tomorrow. And will you march with us?'

Troy hesitated, then nodded. He had no choice, none at all.

'Yes, I will march with you.'

Perhaps this moment had been ordained since he had followed McCulloch to this time and place. Perhaps history was already written and unchangeable.

Well, either way, they would find out tomorrow. It was impossible to decide now. He stayed awake half the night, searching for an answer, but fell asleep with the problem still unresolved.

They were up at dawn — then John Brown summoned them into the living-room for a final service of worship. First he read them passages from the Bible that offered hope to all slaves, then he asked them all to join him in a prayer to God to assist them in the liberation of the bondmen of this slaveholding land.

After that he explained his battle plans and Troy wished that there had been less praying and more reconnaissance. It did not need any knowledge of history to tell that the raid was doomed to failure. They planned to attack and hold the federal armoury — and that was all. No escape routes had been worked out in case they were counterattacked by militia or federal troops. Everything relied on a slave uprising to save them — but no warning had been sent out to the slaves, nor had any effort been made to organize them. All attempts to convince John Brown to take precautions or to make alternative plans were turned away with a reiteration of 'God will guard and shield us.'

When the battle assignments were given out, Troy had no difficulty in volunteering to lead the attack on Hall's Rifle Works. The only federal troops in the city were stationed here and none of the volunteers were eager to face up to them. Shaw joined him, while some others were assigned to aid them in the attack.

That was it. The plans made, the die cast. The tension mounted through the day, until eight o'clock that night when John Brown called them together again.

'Men, it is almost time. I beg of you, when we attack, not to spill blood needlessly, but still you must not hesitate to defend yourselves. Some of you may be killed, indeed all of us may die in this attempt to strike a blow for freedom and justice in this slave-cursed land. We have here only one life to live, and once only to die. But you must remember that if we do lose our lives it will perhaps do more for the cause than our lives would be worth in any other way.'

They bowed their heads in one last prayer. Then John Brown rose from his knees and stood before them, arms uplifted, with his glaring eyes and white beard looking very much like the avenging angel of the Lord that he believed himself to be.

'Men,' he called out. 'Get your arms. We will proceed to the Ferry!'