Rebel in Time

'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!'

Chapter 31

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.

'There it is, Harper's Ferry,' he said. 'Other side of the Potomac there, that's Maryland. After that the farmhouse is about seven miles farther on. You can see the bridge across the river, right over there.'

'Will we have to go through the town?' Shaw asked.

'Only way, unless you want to swim.'

'Then you ought to know that the slaveholders are looking for me and Troy. They could have telegraphed a description ahead to warn their people here to watch out for us. A black man and a white man in a buggy.'

'Easy enough to take care of that,' Copeland said. 'One of you changes places, goes through town on horseback.'

'Better be me,' Troy said. 'His leg is bandaged, that's why we're using the buggy.'

They rode into Harper's Ferry this way, Francis Meriam sitting next to Shaw while Troy rode Meriam's horse. The town was situated on a neck of land where the Shenandoah river joined the Potomac. This gave it a cramped appearance as the clustered homes, saloons, hotels and shops extended along the banks of both rivers and climbed up the slopes of Bolivar Heights behind. Copeland pointed out the sights as they rode along Potomac Street, busy with its traffic of horses, buggies and carts.

'See those buildings along the street here, the ones that look like factories? Well, they're not. That's the federal armoury, all stretched out, starting right after the fire-engine house. Forging here, then machine and stocking shop. The big one next is the arsenal where all the arms are stored.'

'Where is the rifle factory you were telling us about?'

'That would be Hall's Rifle Works, about a half mile further on, along that street, Shenandoah Street. See it? It's on that little island right out there in the river. Always got two sentries out in front, night and day. No one gets in or out lest they're known.'

It's in there, Troy thought, everything that I am looking for. It all has to be in there. The machines to manufacture the cartridges, the store of cartridges, maybe even the guns themselves. Assembled in there and stored there. Two men, that's not much of a guard to stand against a sudden raid.

Which raised the biggest question of all. Why had McCulloch chosen this place, of all the federal armouries, to site his illegal weapons factory? He must know enough about history to know that John Brown was going to raid here. That was a fact in all the books. It was impossible to believe that he hadn't read about it. So, knowing that the raid was coming — why, then, he must have taken precautions to prevent it. Possibly have prepared an ambush. But if it were an ambush, then John Brown would certainly have been told about it. At least one of his spies, John Cook, worked here. There could be others. It was all very unclear.

No one appeared to take any notice of them as they passed through Harper's Ferry and onto the covered bridge across the Potomac. It was a rail bridge as well and a B & O train from Washington passed them half way across, shaking the structure beneath them and puffing out clouds of smoke. Soon after crossing the bridge they turned off the turnpike and onto a country lane. Being careful that they were not followed, Copeland led them up into the foothills of the mountains, to the secret hideout. A ramshackle, two-storey farmhouse, with a kitchen garden in front. Two young girls were working there, and they waved to the men as they came up. While they were tying up their horses the front door opened and a thin man with a full white beard stepped out. His face was lined, craggy, his mouth wide and sealed into a hard slit.

'Mr Brown,' Copeland said. 'I have brought some volunteers to join you.'

'You are welcome, all of you. Come into the house and meet the others.'