Гарри Гаррисон - Rebel in Time

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!'

John Brown led the way, riding on the wagon loaded with pikes that were meant to arm the freed slaves. The others followed, solemnly as though it were a funeral procession, along the country road towards the Potomac. It was a bitter, dark night and before they had gone very far it began to rain, a fine drizzle that chilled them even further. The steep road wound down from the hills, past an occasional farmhouse, then out into the valley. Ahead of them were the lights of Harper's Ferry. Robbie could see them clearly from the back of the wagon where he rode because of his bad leg. He clutched the saddlebags across his lap and shivered with cold.

Each man knew what part he had to play in the attack. They marched in silence along the canal that ran beside the Potomac, then paused when they came to the bridge. Two of the men, the ones who had been assigned to cut the telegraph lines, vanished into the darkness. As soon as they were gone, Brown waved his hand and two others moved quickly out across the bridge and captured the night watchman at the other end.

The way was now open. They crossed the bridge in silence and deployed through the streets, moving with caution past the lights of the Gait House saloon and the Wager House hotel. Guards were left on the Shenandoah bridge while the main force moved on the arsenal and armoury buildings — which were guarded by a single, elderly watchman. They captured him, then swarmed through the buildings. They found no other guards or watchmen. When the buildings had been secured, Brown turned and levelled his finger at their terrifed prisoner.

'This is a slave State — and I shall free all of the Negroes in this State. I have possession now of the United States armoury, and if any of the citizens interfere with me I must only burn the town and have blood.'

With these words he waved Troy and the other attackers on to Hall's Rifle Works, the only one of the federal buildings still not secured. As they went quickly down Shenandoah Street, Troy looked carefully along the water's edge. He raised his pistol and halted the attackers when he saw what he wanted.

'There are guards at the front gate and we may not be able to take them by surprise. I want you men to approach them. If they shoot and repel you, retire and keep up a covering fire. I'm going to use this boat to get behind the works and take them from the flank. Now move out.'

'I'll come with you,' Shaw said. Troy shook his head.

'No, Robbie, you'll be far more valuable to the attack if you remain here. You can take care of the saddlebags as well. I know nothing about these men — but I do know you, and can count upon you to stay and draw their fire. If the soldiers are distracted like that I should be able to penetrate from the rear. Will you do it?'

'Of course. How much time do you need?'

'Just a few minutes to get into position.' As the others moved away he lowered his voice so only Shaw could hear. 'McCulloch may know about this raid — so there might be a very good chance that there is a trap laid in there. Watch yourself.'

'And the same. Good luck.'

Troy opened his knife and sawed at the rope holding the boat to the bank, then pushed it free and jumped inside. He groped through the cold water in the bottom until he found an oar. Just one. It would have to do. He sculled out into the river and felt the current carry the boat towards the island. There was a barely visible dark patch, mud bank or sand flat, behind the building and he headed for it, feeling the boat grind to a stop. As he jumped onto the bank he heard the rattle of gunfire. The attack had begun. His groping fingers found some bushes growing at the river's edge and he tied the rope to one of them, hearing distant shouts and the increasing sound of the guns. There must be strong resistance. But on this side the building was silent and dark. There were windows, but they were small and high above the ground. No good. There just had to be another way in. He ran along the wall, pistol ready in his hand. Nothing.

Only when he turned the corner did he see the small door let in to the wall. As he ran towards it the sound of firing increased suddenly, then died away. Had the attackers forced their way in? No, they must have been repulsed for the firing began again, just occasional shots. He had to get through the door.

It was locked, made of solid wood, and did not budge when he threw his weight against it. There was only one way then to get through it. A noisy way — he would have to move fast.

He fired two shots at point blank range into the lock, then rammed his shoulder against the door again. It shuddered, there was the rattle of broken rnetal, then it gave way. Troy pushed it wide, dived through and rolled behind a pile of crates. There was no return fire. For the moment.

He was in a large room, filled with stacked boxes; a small lantern on the opposite wall shed a fitful yellow glow. It was silent. There was a good chance that he was alone in the room. He must keep moving. He was accomplishing nothing just lying there.

Standing, slowly, gun ready, he ran towards the door in the far wall. Just as it burst open and a dark figure appeared in the opening.