The Old Man looked me over close. The thing ’bout the Captain was that he never gived you straight-out instruction, unless you was in a shooting fight, of course. But in day-to-day living, he mostly declared, “I’m going this way to fight slavery,” and the men said, “Why, I’m going that way, too,” and off we went. That’s how it was with him. This whole business in the newspapers later ’bout him leading them young fellers around by their noses, that’s hogwash. You couldn’t get them ornery roughnecks to do what you wanted, for while they was roughnecks, they was sweet on a cause, and broad-minded to whoever led them to it. You couldn’t get a two-hundred-dollar mule to tear them fellers away from the Old Man. They wanted to be with him ’cause they was adventurers and the Old Man never told them how to be. He was strict as the devil on the matter of religion when it come to his own self, but if your spiritual purpose took you a different way, why, he’d lecture you a bit, then let you move to your own purpose. So long as you didn’t cuss, drink, or chew tobacco, and was against slavery, he was all for you. There was some straight-out rascals in his army, when I think of it. Stevens, course, was a bad-tempered and disagreeable rascal if I ever seen one, chanting to spirits and arguing about his religious beliefs with Kagi and the rest. Charlie Tidd, a white feller, and Dangerfield Newby, a colored—both of them joined up later—them two was outright dangerous and I don’t know that they had a drop of religion between the two of ’em. Even Owen weren’t all-the-way God-fearing to his Pa’s standard. But so long as you was against slavery, why, you could do just whatever you pleased, for despite his grumpiness, the Old Man always thought the best of folks and misjudged their natures. Looking back, it was a terrible notion to send Cook to spy, and a worse notion to send me as an ambassador to rally the colored, for both of us was wanting for knowledge and wisdom, and neither of us would give a sting for nothing but ourselves. We were the two worst people he could have sent ahead.
And course he went with it.
“Splendid idea, Lieutenant Kagi,” he said, “for my Onion here can be trusted. If Cook spills the beans, we will know it.”
With that, the Old Man went out and stole a fine Conestoga wagon from a Pro Slaver, and had the men load it with picks, shovels, and mining tools which they spread ’bout in the back, and throwed several wooden crates in there marked Mining Tools.
“Careful with what is in these crates,” the Old Man said to Cook as we loaded up, nodding at the crates marked Mining Tools. “Do not hurry along the trail. Too much bumping and grinding along and you’ll meet the Great Shepherd in pieces. And watch your tongue. Any man who cannot keep from his friends that which he cannot keep to himself is a fool.” To me he said, “Onion, I will miss you, for you is dutiful and our Good Lord Bird besides. But it is better that you be out of our trek east, for the enemy is close and there is dirty work ahead of us, what with the gathering of means and plunder. You will no doubt be of great assistance to Mr. Cook, who will benefit from having you at his side.” And with that, me and Cook was off on that Conestoga wagon headed for Virginia, and I was one step closer to being free.
Harpers Ferry is as pretty a town as you’d want to see. It’s set above two rivers that meet. The Potomac runs along the Maryland side. The Shenandoah runs along the Virginia side. The two rivers bang up against each other just outside town, and there’s a peak, an overhang just at the edge of town, where you can stand right there and watch them run cockeyed and smack up against each other. One river hits the other and runs backward. It was a perfect place for Old John Brown to favor, for he was as upside down as them two rivers. On both sides of town is the beautiful blue Appalachian Mountain ranges. At the edge of those ranges was two railroad lines, one running along the Potomac side, heading toward Washington and Baltimore, and the other on the Shenandoah side, running toward west of Virginia.
Me and Cook got there in no time, sailing along in clear weather with that Conestoga wagon. Cook was a chatterbox. He was a treacherous, handsome scoundrel, with blue eyes and pretty blond curls that traveled down his face. He kept his hair ’round his face like a girl, and would conversate with anyone who came along as easily as molasses can spread on a biscuit. It ain’t no wonder the Old Man sent him, for he had a way ’bout him that made picking information out of folks easy work, and also his favorite subject was hisself. We got along well.
Once we got to the Ferry we moved with the aim of finding a house near the edge of town for the Old Man’s army where he could also receive all the arms and so forth that the Old Man had arranged to ship down. The Old Man had been clear in his instructions, saying, “Rent something that don’t attract a lot of attention.”
