Rebel in Time

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.