Rebel in Time

'I have. And I can take you to a station that is only a half-day's ride from here, just this side of Montpelier. But we're going to have to muddy the waters a bit first. We don't want to leave a trail that points right to where we're going. The way it stands now we are pretty easy to identify.'

'You can say that again! A black man driving with a white man in a green buggy towing a one-eyed mule! We might as well advertise.'

'My feelings exactly. So we go and sell the mule to this livery stable just outside of the city. When we leave he sees us head north on the turnpike. Only once we are out of sight we use the side road west, me driving and you suffocating under the rug, on the floor in back. By the time they pick up our trail we will be gone without a trace.'

'Sounds good except for the head under the sack bit. Though maybe I can get some sleep.'

By late afternoon the buggy had left the low-lying farming country and was moving slowly along the dusty road that wound up into the foothills of the Piedmont Plateau. The day was hot, but the air was so clear that they could see the outline of the Blue Ridge Mountains far ahead. The horse was going slower and slower, almost winded, and Troy walked beside it, holding onto the reins.

'Much farther?' Troy asked. 'I'm beginning to feel like this horse looks.'

'A few miles more, as I remember it. Want to rest?'

'No. Keep going. The longer that we're on the road the more chance there is that someone will see us.'

The road twisted through a piney bit of forest, then around a sharp bend. Directly in front of them were two grim looking men standing in the centre of the road. With rifles levelled in their direction.

Troy's first spasm of fear ebbed a bit when he saw that one of the men was black. If there was one thing that he could be certain of — all of McCulloch's circle of accomplices would be lily-white.

'Keep your hands where we can see them,' the white man said, wiggling the gun in their direction. 'Now just who are you and where are you going?'

'It's none of your business,' Shaw said quietly. 'If you just stand to one side we can deliver ourselves.'

'Those are fancy words,' the man said, but he lowered his gun. 'People could talk, hear something like Stand And Deliver. But more important is, who do you know? Know Russell?'

'Of course I know Otis — because we're heading for his farm. And he knows me.'

'Does he? Almost time to tell me your name then.'

After the cryptic exchange Shaw agreed that it was too. 'My name is Robbie Shaw. I've been along this bit of track before.'

'Why, you sure have!' the man said, eagerly, holding the gun aside and stepping forward, hand extended. 'Last time through Harriet Tubman told how you and she worked together.'

'She's well — still!'

'Can't stop her. Reward on her head in every state, sent five thousand people at least down the line, still keeps going. All I can say it's a good thing you know her and Otis because strangers aren't welcome here right now. Got too many visitors up to the house, too much happening here. But some of us, we're going to march out tonight and you're just in time to see us off.'

'March where? I've heard nothing.'

'Of course not. Secret's meant to be kept — but the world will know soon. We're off to the Kennedy Farm, on the Maryland side of the Potomac.'

Shaw shook his head, puzzled. 'I'm afraid that I don't know it. Is it a house on the Railroad?'

'No, just a dilapidated old farm that we've been using. It's just a few miles outside of Harper's Ferry. It has been rented by Mr Isaac Smith himself. But that's just a name he used so they wouldn't know who he was. But you know him.

'This Isaac Smith is none other than John Brown himself. Yes he is!'

John Brown, Troy thought to himself, suddenly cold. John Brown at Harper's Ferry. And today is the fourteenth of October.

Clearly then, as clear as though he were reading it from the printed page of a history book he saw the date.

John Brown. The raid on Harper's Ferry.

October 16, 1859.

Chapter 30