The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection

by George MacDonald Fraser

  Anyway, I left nothing to chance, talking to each man in turn to be sure he knew his duties, and J.B. doled out the “commissions” and read his Constitution, and administered his oath of allegiance to the late-comer Meriam and a couple of the blacks, who hadn’t taken them before. Only once was there a cross word, when J.B. tried to interfere with my arrangements for the town; he said our first task must be to detach a party to take hostages, but I put my foot down hard, insisting that it must wait until we had both bridges and the three vital targets – armoury, arsenal, and rifle works – all secure.

  He thrust his beard at me, glittering. “My will must prevail in this, Joshua!”

  “No, Captain Brown, it must not!” says I. “The hostages can wait a few minutes, until our dispositions are complete. I’ll not answer for our safety, or our success, unless the plan is followed to the letter.”

  It took him aback, but Stevens backed me up, and said he’d ’tend to the hostages himself when the time came. J.B. gave in, sulkily, and then in a moment he was off on another tack, telling Stevens that when he took Colonel Washington hostage, he must on no account forget to bring away Lafayette’s pistol and Frederick the Great’s sword, and see to it that Washington in person handed the sword to one of our blacks. “If he doesn’t care for that, no matter. It is symbolic, and right and fitting that the sword of liberty should be placed in a coloured hand.” That was J.B. all over.

  And then, before I knew it, dusk was falling, and we were sitting down to our last supper in the Kennedy Farm. It was blowing up a wild night outside, and the rain was leaking in – almost as fast as my courage was leaking out, for I was scared as I’ve seldom been in my misspent life. The last desperate venture of this kind that I’d sweated over had been when the Hyderabadi Cavalry had charged the breach at Jhansi so that I could be deposited, disguised and petrified with funk, inside the fortress wall, there to worm my way into the presence of the delectable Lakshmibai … my God, that had been only last year, on the other side of the world! And here I was again, on the lion’s lip, forcing my dinner down with Joe’s noisy chewing sounding like a deathknell at my ear.

  Then supper was over, and we sat about in silence, waiting. There were no jokes now, and the only smiles were nervous grimaces on the fresh young faces round the table. It struck me harder then than it had ever done before, what babes they were, half of ’em with barely a growth of beard on their cheeks, torn between fear and the crazy belief that they were doing the Lord’s work, and I felt a sudden anger at bloody John Brown who was leading them to it – and what was a sight worse, leading me. I can see the faces still – Watson Brown poring over a letter from his wife, Oliver’s fine features pale in the lamplight, Leeman drumming his fingers and chewing an unlit cheroot, Hazlett sitting back, brushing the fair hair out of his eyes, Tidd scowling as he traced a finger in a puddle of spilt coffee on the board, Aaron Stevens with his hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, Kagi pacing about, tight as a coiled spring, old black Dangerous Newby whittling at a stick, the youngest men stifling those yawns that are born not of weariness but of fear, Charlie Cook cursing the rain, Bill Thompson whistling softly through his teeth … and Joe seated against the wall, never taking those baleful eyes off me.

  J.B. came out of the kitchen, putting on his coat and hat.

  “Get on your arms, men,” says he. “We will proceed to the Ferry.”

  Chapter 17

  There were twenty of us, two by two, and J.B. driving the wagon, which held the pikes and tools for forcing the armoury gates. Every man-jack of us, fifteen white men and six blacks, carried a Sharps rifle and forty rounds, and two revolvers; against the blinding rain we had our hats and loose shawls, and before we were out of the lane and on to the road, we were sodden through. I cast a glance back as we reached the road: Owen and Meriam and one of the youngsters were still on the veranda, outlined against the light from the open door, Owen with his hand raised, although he couldn’t have seen us in the dark, and I remembered something he’d said as he shook hands with Watson and Oliver in the moment of parting: “If you succeed, Old Glory’ll fly over this farm some day; if you don’t, they’ll call it a den of thieves and pirates,” and Oliver replying with a laugh: “Why, Owen, you can start shaping up a flagstaff right now!”

  Neither of ’em believed it. Only two men in that company truly wanted to go to the Ferry – J.B. and Kagi, and of those two only one expected to come out alive, because he was sure God must see him through. One other was determined to come out alive, and you may guess who he was, striding resolutely through the wet night with his guts dissolving, conscious of the looming black genie at his shoulder.

  Six of us marched before the wagon, Cook and Tidd out in front, then Kagi and Stevens, and last Joe and I, and as we sloshed on through the dark, barely able to see the muddy road before us, I found myself harking back to other desperate night forays – with Rudi Starnberg in the silent, snow-clad woods of Tarlenheim, on our way to carry out Bismarck’s mad design to put me on a European throne; stealing through the pandy lines at Lucknow with Kavanagh, and him figged out as Sinbad the Sailor with his clock covered in blacking; riding with Mangas Colorado’s band of Mimbreno Apaches to descend on a sleeping hamlet of the Rio Grande; hand in hand with Elspeth through that dark garden at Antan’ where we’d lain doggo in the bushes and a Hova guardsman had trod on her finger and broken it and the little heroine had never so much as squeaked … and at the thought of her golden beauty and warm soft body entwined with mine on the green moss of the Madagascar forest, and now so far away and lost to me, perhaps, forever, I could have raved aloud at the sheer blind cruelty of chance that had landed me in this beastly business – while she was snug and safe in dear old London, aye, and like as not rogering her brainless head off with some fortunate swine, the little trot. I thrust the unworthy thought aside, as I’d done a hundred times in the past, for I’ve never been sure, you see … but whether or no, it didn’t matter, I could still see that splendid milk-white shape reclining on the bed at Balmoral, the blonde glory of her hair spilling on the pillows, bright blue eyes wide and teasing, red lips kissing at me over the fan of crimson feathers that was the only thing between me and heart’s desire …

  No, by heaven, I refused to say farewell to all that magnificent meat; I’d win back to her somehow, though hell should bar the way, and give her loving what-for until the springs broke, in spite of J.B. and Joe Simmons and J. C. Spring and every other son-of-a-bitch who was trying to do me down – why, hadn’t I taken on a black rascal every bit as big and ugly as Joe that night in Antan’, and won through, just as I’d won through all those other terrifying scrapes with Rudi and Kavanagh and the rest? A great rage surged up in me as I blundered along, compounded of lust for Elspeth and hatred against the gods; I was damned if after all I’d suffered it was going to end in a two-bit pest-hole like Harper’s Ferry …

  A low whistle from the dark ahead banished my fond visions: there, a scant mile away through the murk, lights were twinkling dimly – the lights of the little township, and below them, the faint glow of the few lamps that marked the armoury buildings along the Potomac shore, and cast a barely-seen glimmer on the river surface. Left of the armoury, and closer to our line of approach, I could just make out the loom of the covered bridge over the Potomac, with a lamp at either end – that was our first target. The whistle had been the signal that Tidd and Cook were breaking off to cut the first telegraph lines, and now we were hastening down the slope, the wagon jolting behind us, to the near end of the Potomac bridge. The timbers boomed beneath our feet in the wooden tunnel through which ran the Baltimore and Ohio railroad tracks as well as the road; we were running now, and a babble of voices was coming from the far end, where Kagi and Stevens were dealing with the watchman, who seemed to think it was all a joke – “Say, what are you fellers about – t’ain’t Hallowe’en for a couple o’ weeks yet … Goddlemighty, man, take care with that piece!”

  I had a glimps
e of his scared white face beneath the lamp, and Kagi holding a rifle to his breast, as I ran past, Joe at my elbow, and turned to face the covered bridge entrance. The wagon came rumbling out, with the boys running in file either side of it, and as I called my orders they wheeled away like good ’uns, each to his station. “Watson and Taylor – take the watchman, keep him quiet! Kagi and Stevens, close on the wagon! Halt her there, captain! Oliver – Shenandoah bridge, smart as you can, and quiet!” Oliver ran past me, with Dangerous Newby and Bill Thompson at his heels, and vanished under the trees at my back; J.B. reined in, and Kagi and the others closed round him. Taylor was covering the terrified watchman at the Potomac bridge mouth, and Watson waved his rifle to me in acknowledgment.

  Now before I go any further, you should look at my map, which is done as best I can remember, for many of the old landmarks are gone now, so I can’t be dead sure where everything was.49 I’ve told you how the town lay, and you can see for yourselves, but I must impress on you just how small was the space in which our little drama was to be played out. Coming out of the right fork of the Potomac bridge, you were looking at the Wager House hotel, a large gabled building with two storeys and a basement; it was part of the station and hard by the railroad where it branched right from the covered bridge. To your left, beyond the other railroad track and part-screened by trees, were the Shenandoah bridge and Gait’s saloon. Directly ahead of you was the arsenal building, and to the right the gates and railings of the armoury enclosure. Beyond the arsenal and armoury were houses and shops and the town proper. All these places lay within an area not much bigger than a football field, perhaps eighty yards by a hundred, and from the upper floor of the Wager House you could see pretty well all of it, unless there happened to be a tree or a freight car in the way. The space between the hotel and the armoury gates was fairly open, as I remember, and I think part of it was cobbled; there were trees here and there, and I dare say some buildings I’ve forgotten, but nothing to signify.

  “Joe, get the crowbar from the wagon! Aaron, take the sledge! Follow me!” I was legging it for the armoury gates, and J.B. jumped down from the wagon and kept pace with me, the others following. The rain was lighter now, but it was still pretty dark, save where a pool of light was cast by the lamps on the armoury gate-posts. A figure emerged from the shadows, staring towards us, and J.B. lengthened his stride, whipping out his pistol, calling to him to stand. There was a confused babble of who the hell are you, and give me the key this instant, and I’ll be damned if I do, and then we were at the big double gates of iron railing, and Joe was snapping the retaining chain with one mighty heave on the crowbar, the gates were thrust back, and Stevens led the rush of half a dozen of our fellows into the yard. There were shouts ahead as two watchmen came running from the nearest buildings, but they stopped short at the sight of the weapons and were surrounded neat as wink.

  I whistled up the wagon, now driven by one of the blacks, and ordered it into the yard. I looked round for J.B., expecting to see him making for the arsenal across the street, but he had his piece to the breast of the first watchman, and was haranguing him in fine style.

  “I am Isaac Smith,” he was proclaiming himself, “and you are my prisoner! Submit peaceably and no harm will come to you, but if you resist your blood will be on your own head!”

  “Ye’re drunk, ye old fool! And on a Sunday, too!” cries the other, pushing the gun aside, but Jerry Anderson ran up and clapped a pistol to his head, and he just sank down in the mud, squawking. A voice called out of the misty darkness, from the direction of the town, asking what all the row was about, and I wheeled on Kagi.

  “Take three men, round up anyone on the street over there, and bring ’em here, quick and quiet! Leeman, run to the Shenandoah bridge, see if all’s well with Oliver! Bring the watchman back here! Dauphin Thompson, fetch the watchman from the Potomac bridge. And both of you – keep ’em quiet, d’ye hear?” Jerry was hustling his stricken watchman to the armoury yard, and J.B. was stalking after them, muttering; I called to him, but he didn’t seem to hear – well, someone was going to have to secure the arsenal, and quickly.

  “Hazlett, and you, youngster, follow me! Bring the crowbar!” I ran across to the arsenal building; behind me there was a babble of voices at the armoury gate, J.B.’s among them, and Stevens was snapping: “Silence, all of you! Another sound and we’ll put you in eternity!” Hazlett came running with the crowbar, and I snatched the lantern from above the door to give him light; he shoved the bar into the jamb, and with a splintering of timber the lock was burst in. It was pitch dark within, but with the lantern I had a glimpse of rifles racked and ammunition boxes piled high; I shoved the lantern into Hazlett’s hand.

  “Stay here – and keep that glim outside or you’ll blow the town sky-high!”

  I ran back to the armoury gates just as Kagi arrived, herding three or four complaining citizens with their hands in the air; they seemed to think it was some kind of practical joke until they saw the captured watchmen in the yard, surrounded by levelled rifles, and J.B., beard bristling and eyes glittering, laying down the law in his best pulpit voice.

  “Be silent, all of you! I come from Kansas to this State of slavery! I mean to free every negro slave, and to that end I have taken your armoury! If the citizens interfere with me I must only burn the town and have blood! Now, sit down upon the ground, and be quiet all.”

  They sat, too, scared and staring, all except one old codger who faced up to J.B.

  “You’re crazy, mister! What d’ye mean, scarin’ folks half to death? Now, you put down that gun – why, you’re as old as I am, and ought to know better!”

  “Hold your tongue, friend, and do as you are bid!” growls J.B., but I heard no more, for at that moment came whooping and laughter behind me, and it was those noisy idiots, Cook and Tidd, to tell me proudly that the wires were cut, both sides. I shut them up fast enough, and then Dauphin was back with the guard from the Potomac bridge, pushing him into the yard. A moment later Leeman came striding across from the trees, flourishing his pistol at a terrified watchman and two fellows whom Oliver had picked up on the Shenandoah bridge.

  “All’s well!” cries Leeman. “Say, this is a lark, ain’t it –”

  “Shut up and put those men in the yard! And send Kagi to me – jump to it, man!” There was still the rifle works to attend to, six hundred yards up the Shenandoah shore – a matter which J.B. seemed to have forgotten; he was still hectoring the captives, now about a dozen strong, who were watching him like so many rabbits before a snake. Kagi came running, and I told him to take two blacks to the rifle works, send one of ’em back with the watchman, and sit tight until he heard from me.

  He jerked a thumb in J.B.’s direction. “What about the captain? I’ve been telling him that our first task must be to clear the arsenal, and find wagons to carry off the arms, but all he talks about is his damned hostages! You must tell him, Josh – we ought to be loading up right soon, ’fore we have the town about our ears!”

  “I’ll talk to him when he’s got his bearings. Stevens can collect his precious hostages and wagons together, and I’ll get J.B. to go through the arsenal in the meantime.”

  “All right,” says he, worried. “But, Josh – don’t let him delay, will you? You know what he’s like! We must be out of here by daybreak!”

  “We will be, never fear!” I knew one who was going to be. “Off with you, John! Good luck!”

  He went, with another doubtful look towards J.B., and I strode across to the arsenal, where Hazlett was standing in the doorway, rifle in hand, and took a quick survey around – I could just see Watson Brown under the Potomac bridge lantern; all was quiet towards Gait’s saloon, its lights blinking through the trees, and there wasn’t a sound from Oliver’s station on the Shenandoah bridge; the curtained windows of the Wager House glowed crimson in the dark, and I could hear faint voices and laughter; J.B. and Stevens were in conference under the armoury gate lantern, and beyond them the captives wer
e squatting silent, guarded by Leeman and the others. I looked towards the town: nothing stirred, a few lights shone in the houses only fifty yards away, but there wasn’t a soul to be seen; no one was calling out, or coming to see what was amiss, or doing anything at all, apparently, except prepare for bed on a Sabbath night. It had stopped raining. We had taken Harper’s Ferry.

  I’m quite proud of that, still. Very well, it wasn’t Sebastopol – but my plan had gone like clockwork, those gormless boys had played up like old soldiers, and we’d sealed the bridges, cut the wires, taken our three objectives, the town unsuspecting, and all within the hour. God knows I hadn’t been a willing performer, and would have been over the hill but for Joe’s presence – but, dammit, when you’ve no choice but to go ahead, your pulses start racing whether you like it or not, and excitement grips you, even though you’re scared sick, because you want like hell to accomplish the thing you’ve set your hand to, however reluctantly. As I stood in the chilly dark, my heart hammering, I felt a great unreasoning exultation, just for an instant before sanity returned, and Joe must have felt it, too, for he grunted “You done that pretty good, Comber”, which, considering our relations, was not a bad compliment.

  By this time Stevens, Cook, Tidd and a couple of blacks were hurrying off to kidnap the owner of the Washington Farm which lay a few miles up the Potomac shore, with J.B.’s insistence that they bring back Frederick’s sword ringing in their ears. He was in an odd state: outwardly very calm, but strangely detached, as though his thoughts were far away; when I reported all well, he just nodded offhand, and when I asked if we should clear the arsenal, he said he would see to it presently, when the hostages had come in. I hinted, delicately, that haste might be advisable, since at any moment some stray citizen might happen by and raise the alarm, but at this he just frowned, stroking his beard, and muttered that we had time enough … and gradually it began to dawn on me that he simply didn’t know what to do next, about finding wagons, or collecting arms, or rousing the slaves, or taking to the hills while our luck held. Now, of all times, he was stricken again with indecision, and retreating into his dreams by the look of him.