Rebel in Time

Chapter 34

Troy could only stare, unbelievingly, as the bullets tore into McCulloch's body. The colonel folded forward, the revolver dropping from his fingers, tumbling and rolling down the slope to stop at Troy's feet. His eyes were open but unseeing. When he drew a last, shuddering breath there was the wet bubbling sound of air passing through the wounds in his chest.

'Who… is John Brown…' he said. And died.

'Give me — a hand, Troy,' Shaw said, slumped back in the boat. His face was a red smear of blood. He held the Sten-gun limply against his body, too weak to lift it again.

The numbness left Troy and he was galvanized to life, jumping into the boat and seizing Shaw under the arms, dragging him ashore and placing him gently on the grass beside McCulloch's corpse. When he turned he saw that the boat was drifting away; he splashed into the water after it, seized the bow and pulled it up onto the sand. Then he climbed into it again to find the saddlebags, rooted into them for his medical supplies.

'Scalp wounds, notoriously bloody,' Shaw said as Troy wound the bandage about his head. 'Stunned me when it bounced off my skull. I recovered consciousness face down in that wretched boat. Felt as though half my head had been blown away. But we Shaws have always been known for our thick skulls. Once I stopped feeling sorry for myself I was rather glad to be alive. I couldn't see very well, but there was nothing wrong with my hearing. By the sound of his voice I placed the mad colonel on the bank up above us — in the same place he had been standing when he shot me. The rest, as they say, is merely history. My hands were actually resting on the gun under the seat, although it took me some time to realize it. I did all the things you told me to do with it and they worked. Sorry to have taken so long — but I wanted to be sure all of his attention was on you before I made my move.'

'I can't thank you…'

'Then don't.' He was silent a moment, looking up at Troy's face. 'I heard a good deal of what you were saying to each other.'

'Did you?'

Troy rolled McCulloch's body over, pushed his coat aside and tore off a length of shirt that was not stained with blood. He took it to the river, dipped it into the water then wrung it out. He used it to clean the drying blood from Shaw's face.

'Was there any truth in what you were talking about?' Shaw said.

'Will it go any farther, Robbie? Will you tell anyone else about what you have heard — or write it up for the newspapers?'

'It's a wonderful story, you have to admit.'

'Would anyone believe you? I would deny everything, of course.'

'There is that.' Shaw sighed. 'I wouldn't be believed — nor would anything be accomplished by publishing it. You have my word, then, Troy Harmon. I owe you my life, as you owe me yours, so there is this bond between us. But if I swear to reveal nothing, will you tell me the truth of the matter? Have you two — the both of you — have you really travelled here from the future?'

Troy hesitated, then slowly nodded, almost relieved to share this secret at last.

'And you followed him? That was a brave thing to do.'

'Brave? I don't know. It just had to be done. He was bringing that gun here, to win the war for the slavers. To change history. That could not be allowed.'

'War is coming then?' Shaw asked, his voice hushed. 'You mentioned April of sixty-one.'

'Don't ask me for dates, please. But the war will surely come — and hundreds of thousands will die. But the Union will prevail and slavery will end.'

'Amen to that. But tell me — and you cannot deny me the question — what does the future hold for Scotland and England? You know it, don't you, know all the future?'

Troy stood and looked around, listening. It was quiet. They seemed to be safe for the moment. The gunfire may not have been heard.

'I am afraid to speak, Robbie. Afraid to tell you what is to come in fear that the knowledge, some action of yours, might alter it. It is not a bad future. There will be wars, but your country will remain sound and free. The world will change, physically that is, with machines everywhere. No beasts, the horses will vanish from the streets. The cities, all concrete and steel and pavings. But people will remain very much the same. Let it stop here, please. We must never speak of it again.'

'But there are so many questions I burst to ask! I feel like the man in the story who is given three wishes, then is afraid to use them. The things that you know — that I never will!' When Troy did not answer he pushed himself up to a sitting position. 'I'll try not to speak of it again — but it will be deuced hard!'

'We best think about moving on before we're found here. If McCulloch saw us from the road his horse must be tied nearby.'

'What about the colonel?'

'His won't be the only corpse in the river this day,' Troy said grimly.

He bent and quickly searched McCulloch's pockets, taking away his wallet and a large ring of keys. Then he pushed with his foot and the body toppled over the edge of the bank and splashed into the water, bobbed there for a moment before drifting slowly away. The colonel had come home, to the South he loved. Troy watched the corpse until the current took it and carried it out of sight. Then he climbed into the boat and gazed down at the grey form of the submachinegun, with a feeling of immense distaste. He seized it up and hurled it far out into the river, where it splashed and sank from sight.

They found McCulloch's horse tied up about thirty yards away under the trees. Troy gave Shaw a foot up into the saddle, then slung the saddlebags behind him.

'Are you well enough to ride?' he asked.

'I think so. Other than a pounding headache I don't feel too terrible. Do you have a plan?'

'Yes. I have to return to Richmond. You heard what McCulloch said about the plans for the submachinegun. I must find them and destroy them. It is going to be dangerous, but it has to be done. I can't ask you to come with me.'

'You're not asking, I'm volunteering. You don't think I would stop now, before this thing is finished? And there is the undeniable fact as well that you would never make it on your own. We'll keep to the back roads — I don't want to have to explain this bandage too often. We'll take it very easy. I doubt if the search for us will be carried on very seriously now. Not after this setback to their plans. And McCulloch's death.'

By the time they reached the town of Culpepper they felt relatively secure. They were far enough from Harper's Ferry so that Shaw's injury was not associated with the uprising there. His explanation that he had fallen from his horse and injured his face was accepted readily enough. Troy held the horse while Shaw went into the general store to purchase supplies. He bought a newspaper as well. They did not open it until they were well away from the town. The raid on Harper's Ferry still led the news.

'It's all over,' Shaw said, scanning the story. 'The raid lasted thirty-six hours. Then a storming party of US Marines rushed the armoury and took the survivors prisoner. The attack was led by Colonel Robert E. Lee of the second Cavalry and a Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart. I've never heard of either of them.'

'I have,' Troy said, grimly. 'You'll be hearing more about them in the future.'

Shaw hadn't been listening; he was reading the reports with a horrified expression. 'This is terrible, it was just butchery. The whole thing turned into a shambles. The first person killed in the attack by Brown's people was a Negro — can you imagine that! And the raiders who tried to escape, the local people, they just slaughtered them. Poor Newby, remember him? The mulatto. He only joined Brown in order to free his wife and children from a plantation here in Virginia. His throat was cut, then his ears were sliced off for souvenirs!' Shaw hurled the newspaper from him and turned to Troy, his eyes deep with sorrow. 'There will be more like this, won't there? This is just the beginning?'

Troy turned away so he would not have to answer, but his silence was answer enough. He retrieved the newspaper and later made himself read all of the details. He did not tell Shaw that John Brown and all of the survivors would be tried and hung. It would be months yet before that happened, but happen it would.

By the time they had reached the outskirts of Richmond, Troy had made up his mind about what he had to do. It was just before dark when they set up camp in a thicket some distance from the road.

'I have to get into McCulloch's house,' Troy said. 'There was nothing in his wallet or on his person that gave any clues where the plans for the gun are kept. But I know him well enough to believe that they must be in that house somewhere. I doubt if he would entrust them to anyone else. A couple of the keys on his ring were very impressive, possibly keys to a strongbox or safe. You stay here, you'll be safe enough. I'm going to get in fast and out the same way. No one will see me. I'll be back before dawn.'

'Good luck.'

'Thanks. I hope that I won't need it. This should be a straightforward job of breaking and entering. I'll see you.'

Troy took every possible precaution to be sure that no one saw him in the street during his circuitous approach to the house. McCulloch's servants were still in their slave quarters, but the house itself was dark. He watched for over an hour, but detected no movements or lights from the building. The moon was moving in and out of the clouds and he waited patiently for a period of darkness before he slipped soundlessly up to the front door. He found the correct key quickly enough, unlocked the door and went in — gun ready. The silent house had a musty, sealed-up smell. When Troy was absolutely certain that he was alone he tucked the revolver back into his belt and began the search.

It took him less than an hour to find the safe. Not that it was well hidden, he had just worked his way through the other rooms first before he reached the bedroom. The curtains were heavy. He pulled them tight then hung blankets over them for better protection. When he was sure that no light would be seen outside he lit a candle and tried the keys on the safe.

On the shelves inside was a great deal of money, in bills and gold. And a single drawer at the bottom. Only when he had pulled the drawer open and actually had the drawings in his hand did he feel the release of tension. This was the last thing that must be done. When these were destroyed, McCulloch's scheme would be at an end. As he took the plans from the drawer he saw the slim form of the book underneath them. He wondered what could be so valuable about this book that it had been hidden here with the Sten-gun plans and the money. When he took it out and read the title he felt a terrible chill.

'Ordeal by Fire,' by Fletcher Pratt. A short history of the Civil War. McCulloch's guide for his plans to change history. But he had surely been insane to have taken this book with him. It had to be destroyed at once, along with the plans. But as he held it, Troy's curiosity was aroused. McCulloch's dying words still preyed on his mind. Who is John Brown? He flipped quickly through the book, to the index in the back.

There was no mention of the attack on Harper's Ferry. No mention at all of John Brown.

All at once it became terribly clear. McCulloch had been an indifferent student at school, had grown up in Mississippi, the State in the Union with the lowest educational standards. It was just believable that in school he had never read about John Brown, or if he had, had forgotten about it. His knowledge of history must have been slight. He had believed in an abstraction, a dream of the old South. But when he wanted to alter the course of history he had to learn more about the details of the war itself. So he had bought a book, a history of the Civil War. Never a scholar, one book had been enough for him.

By some irony, some quirk of fate, some unguessable arrangement of the laws of chance and of time, he had bought what was undoubtedly the only history of the Civil War that failed to mention John Brown's part in the tragic events of the last months leading up to that war.

With a convulsive spasm of his hands, Troy tore the book in two. Disgusted with the realization that the incredible invention of a machine to move through time had been prostituted to such low purpose, by a man of this calibre. Enough! The matter was done with, it must be closed and finished and forgotten. He ripped a pillowcase from the bed, stuffed the book and plans into it, then turned back to the safe. What of the money? There was no reason to leave it here. With no one to claim it, the money would eventually go to the state of Virginia, to aid in the war effort. It would be of far better use turned over to the abolitionist movement. He dumped the gold and coins into the pillowcase, then relocked the safe.

The keys would go into the river, the plans and book into the fire, and that would be the end of that. End of McCulloch, end of his plans. End of his scheme to guarantee the future of the Confederacy.

But the cold winds of-war were still blowing from the future, although it wouldn't begin for another eighteen months yet. There was more than enough time to see that this job was finished properly. With all of the loose ends tied up and his final report made.