Гарри Гаррисон - Rebel in Time

'Bless you, Mr Meriam,' the old woman said, rocking in her chair by the fire. 'Bless you, because with God's help the slaves will be freed.'

At that moment the outer door opened, in dramatic punctuation of her words. Some of those present reached for their guns as a man pushed in, drenched with rain, leaning hard against the door to close it against the wind. He turned to face them, a young man in his early twenties, looking about the room as though searching for someone.

'Francis Jackson Meriam — is that you?' he called out.

Meriam climbed to his feet and hurried across to greet his friend, clutching his rain-wet hand. 'John, they said that you would come to meet me. Am I still in time?' He turned to the others without waiting for an answer. 'Everyone, this is John Copeland whom you will remember took part in the Oberlin raid that was in all the papers.'

They made the newcomer welcome. Someone handed him others tried not to show their impatience to hear the news. It was Meriam who finally burst out.

'How are they? How does it go?'

'Very well indeed. We got the message that you were coming, they sent me out to get you, show you the way back. The farm is sort of crowded though, a lot of us there. Some of the men are like penned animals, been locked in that house since August. But we are going to strike soon. The pikes have arrived, and the guns. Everything is in readiness, at least that's what Mr Cook says. He's been in Harper's Ferry for a year now, working in the federal armoury. He knows everything about it. He's so close to it that he even married one of the local girls. He knows a thing or two, does John E. Cook. He's a friend of mine, he was up at the house and we talked, told me all about the armoury and everything. We're going to the right place. Do you know how many stands of arms they turn out there? They can make ten thousand a year, that's what they can. They make everything there, got a big forge and a machine shop. Make percussion caps, barrels and secret things too, secret kind of bullet, that's what Mr Cook said.'

Bullet! The word penetrated Troy like a bullet itself. Of course! The Sten-guns would be useless without a large supply of first class ammunition. He had been so intent on the gun itself that he had never considered the thousands, hundreds of thousands, of cartridges they would need. Cartridges of a kind he had yet to see here. The clues had been under his nose ever since he had arrived, but he had been too stupid to notice them. He had seen many different kinds of guns, smoothbore, rifled, muzzle loading, pin fire and percussion cap — a great variety — but none of them were capable of easy loading or of automatic fire. Ammunition. There had been no sign of cartridges or gunpowder in McCulloch's factory. An operation like that could not be easily hidden. Which meant that although the guns were manufactured in Richmond the ammunition wasn't. Where could the necessary bullets be made?

In a government armoury, of course.

The newcomer was still talking, answering questions. Troy waited, kneading his knuckles impatiently, then finally broke in.

'Mr Copeland, I'm sorry to interrupt, but you said something a moment ago about a new kind of bullet being manufactured in Harper's Ferry?'

'That's right, that's what Mr Cook told me, and he's not the kind of man who would lie about a thing like that. They are making these bullets in Hall's Rifle Works, out there on that island in the Shenandoah. Secret, guards all around. You can't get near the place at all.'

'Did Mr Cook describe the bullet to you, tell you anything about it?'

'Did more than that. Said that this was so secret it had to be important. He told me to tell John Brown about it, and I did that. Something else he did, he got hold of some empty shell casings when they was sweeping out, ones that had broke. For me to show to John Brown.'

'Could you describe them?' Troy asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.

'Do better than that. Let you look at one. Kept one for myself.'

He rooted around in his trouser pocket, frowned, then put his hand in the other pocket.

'Don't think I lost it. Got it here some place. Yes, I knew it, here.'

Troy looked at the split shell casing resting on the palm of his hand, cracked in the drawing, it looked like. A 9mm Parabellum, it could be nothing else; he had fired enough of them to know. Ringed at the base and punctured for the insertion of the percussion cap.

'That's very interesting,' he said, passing it back. 'And you'll be guiding Mr Meriam back to join the others?'

'Sure will. First thing in the morning.'

'I would like to volunteer to go with you. May I?'

'John Brown can use every man he can get.'

'I'm glad to hear that,' Robbie Shaw broke in, speaking for the first time — though he had been listening intently. 'If he can use one volunteer he can use another. I'm going along as well.'

He was looking straight at Troy as he said it, and permitted a quick touch of a smile to move his lips. There was much talk and excitement after that, and only later did Troy have a chance to draw the Scotsman aside.

'What did you do that for?' Troy asked. 'This is no game now. People are going to get killed.'

'It never was a game — but it has been a puzzle. You know a lot of things that you haven't told me, though tonight you did tell me that this new ammunition has a good deal to do with you or the colonel — or both. The way you jumped when Copeland mentioned it. Are you going to let me know now what this thing is all about?'

'No. But I will tell you to get out while the going is good. I have to go to Harper's Ferry, but you don't. Please, Robbie, take my word for it. No good will come of this.'

'I'll take your word only when you let me know what this entire matter is all about. Can't you tell me what you were looking for in McCulloch's factory? You must have found something there if you tried to burn it down.'

Troy considered it. He had proof now that McCulloch was making the guns, and was also somehow involved in a conspiracy to manufacture the ammunition in a government armoury. This meant that a number of people knew what was happening and it was no longer necessary to keep the Sten-gun a secret. All he had to leave out was the fact that he had followed McCulloch here from the future.

'All right. It's only fair that you know now. I'm a government agent following McCulloch. Not only did he commit those murders I told you about, but he stole the drawings for a highly secret and deadly weapon. He believes firmly that war will soon come between the states, and he must have obtained the aid of other, like-minded Southerners. He is making the gun at his factory — I found a piece from it. But he has no ammunition works there, and this gun uses a special type of bullet. With a casing just like the one I was holding. And that is the puzzle. These cartridges are being made in a government armoury. Yet I can guarantee you — the government knows nothing about this.'

'The answer to that one is tragically easy. The officers in command of the rifle works must all be Southern sympathizers. That would be easy enough to arrange, so many of the Army officers are from Virginia. And what better place to hide the works than under everyone's noses? It's like Edgar Allan Foe's story of the purloined letter. I'm sorry, Troy, but after this you can't possibly stop me from joining you. What a story this will make! Remember, I'm a journalist first and an abolitionist second. Whatever happens at Harper's Ferry, why, it will be the news story of the decade. We're both off to join John Brown!'

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.